


think of me, god willing

by shepherd



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Ableism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety Attacks, Big Bang Challenge, Blind Character, Blind Ignis Scientia, Canon-Typical Violence, Cover Art, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Gladio Non Compliant, Family Drama, Family Issues, Hurt Gladiolus Amicitia, Hurt Ignis Scientia, Hurt Prompto Argentum, Light Romance, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Minor Injuries, Suicidal Thoughts, apocalyptic setting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-16 16:01:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 95,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29827413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shepherd/pseuds/shepherd
Summary: Three years into the Long Night, Ignis departs from his newfound Lestallum home without warning. Sick of infantilization from his family and intending to wait for Noctis' eventual return upon the shores of Cape Caem, he shuts out the rest of the world and is content to wait in silence.But in this world of ruin, nothing is quiet for long.(written as part of the world of ruin bang)
Relationships: Cor Leonis & Ignis Scientia, Cor Leonis/Original Male Character(s), Gladiolus Amicitia/Ignis Scientia, Prompto Argentum & Cor Leonis
Comments: 3
Kudos: 14
Collections: World of Ruin Big Bang





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> oh boy this took me so, so long.
> 
> just over 90k! that's way longer than i thought it would be! i hope people manage to make it through
> 
> thanks to the mods and hello to the other participants of the World of Ruin bang! special thanks and shout out to Sanj (@kidgrayson on twitter) for their companionship and awesome art, which will be featured at the beginning and the end of this fic, but mostly their patience

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to sanj (@kidgrayson on twitter, and kidgraysonx on tumblr) for the wonderful art used at the beginning of the fic - thank you for your partnership, assurance and patience throughout a very long project!

Out beyond the cliffs of Cleigne and high above the writhing waters, the Lucian sky began to boil.

Deep and oppressive cloud thickened, and the minutes trawled slowly by, miserable greys and unnatural greens transforming themselves into an endless black. The cold air changed, and the scent of the soil sharpened – thunder crying out across the unforgiving sea, fast approaching vulnerable land.

Ignis could not sense the storms arrival. Only when the first heavy raindrop fell did he cast sightless eyes skyward, thoughtful, and weary. Another followed swiftly and spread across his cheek. Another upon his furrowed brow. It was less than a minute to a torrential downpour, he suspected, and he sighed softly.

Only in retrospect did he see the signs. Such weather was a mixed blessing. Murky, darkened air and the threat of lightning was the least of what he needed. Knowing by his run of luck he would lose all power to the house, hard earned and precious. But the world could use the water. Eos cried out for nutrition, for mercy, and Ignis could bear the storm a while for the benefits it brought.

By the time he wrangled his sparce things together and began to the careful journey back to his porch the pace of the water had quickened. Rain drummed without rhythm against the ancient wood. A gentle breeze made empty tree branches sway, their leaves long rotted. Ignis’ hand caught the damp handrail and took the stairs carefully, one by one. His shoulders and back took the worst of the downpour, hair falling into his eyes.

The porch kept him safe. A chair had been left against the far wall and Ignis found it, dragging it toward the railing and laid his meagre possessions upon the floor by his feet. Absentmindedly he folded his threadbare blanket and drummed his fingers against his porcelain coffee cup.

It had been some time since the rain had come. Ignis had privately begun to wonder if Eos had been forgotten entirely. No rainfall, no sun. While Ignis had not engaged with the outside world in some time, he knew survival grew more desperate day by day. Dark days ahead, before, and present.

Shaking his head to himself, Ignis sat quietly. The spray from the ocean became violent as the storm approached. Thunder came quickly, and for Ignis, the lightning never came.

There would be no rest for him tonight, if Ignis’ sense of the passing of time remained correct. Much like each night that came before. Rainfall could be a threat if he didn’t remain vigilant. A storm was an omen that Ignis could not identify. So he would sit and wait – for the tell-tale wail of a daemon, for the dying grind of his generators. Memory would serve him well enough, he hoped, to fix any disaster. 

Whether or not hope would be enough to save his life – he did not know. Cor had taught him the finer parts of the machinery, the typical issues that could follow a devastating storm, and Ignis always listened well.

The warmth of a coffee would be a great comfort but Ignis tired of the sour taste. For weeks his instant stock had been running low. These days Ignis only saved the packets for the very worst of nights.

Another rumble of thunder. Ignis closed his eyes, hoping to steady his patchy breathing. Such sounds and the lingering fear of the unknown would keep him from his sleep tonight. It at least was not as haunting as the spluttering of rare passing trucks, the screeching brakes and the shrieks of a furious creature. They sat deep into the sorry state of his psyche, cold and unforgettable.

Years ago – fleeting years, that passed as quickly as the summer rain – there would be too many men crammed into a tent, lying wide awake. Each were tense and anxious, an awful energy coursing through their veins and suffering within their chests.

Noctis would lie rigid. One hand would fist itself in Ignis’ soft sleep shirt. He would scarcely breath as shrieks pierced the night air, a haunting memory of cruel blades and rough scales keeping him from his rest. And Ignis would roll over, shaking the white-knuckle grip free and embrace him tightly.

The rest would say nothing as Prompto wriggled up behind Ignis, and Gladio would cast a heavy and protective arm around the lot of them. Still nothing as the heat grew unbearable, each of them sweating hard. Ignis rest his chin upon Noctis’ crown as he buried his head into Ignis’ throat, meeting Gladio’s tired eyes, and the night would stretch on, unforgivingly close to forever.

But they were together. That was what mattered.

Such nights were the very worst. Until the sun would rise, bathing Eos in wonderous guiding light and chasing away the horrors within the darkness for yet another day. Until the sun fell again, they carried their own light – their hearts, thumping in time with one another, and the fond looks and teasing jokes they shared.

Noctis would no longer tremble as the golden morning took hold. And Ignis would be content – the lingering anxiety would dissipate in the face of smiles, and the pure comfort of his loved ones sharing a small breakfast would pull him through another difficult day.

Noctis had left them now – but now before they failed him completely.

Now the rainfall came in lashing waves. Perhaps the modest farmland would not remain to him, the mud flooded, and seeds cast aside. Perhaps even the guiding lighthouse would be reduced to rubble. Ignis, to bone. It seemed a fitting fate for a man who could do nothing but wait, an endless servant without his master.

_Let the rain come,_ he thought. He would not lift a finger for anything more than Noctis’ steady hands within his.

Ignis had followed his path until its violent end. And the darkness stretched on even further beyond, casting a great shadow for weeks, months. Years, possibly, and Ignis had frozen. His darkness would be permanent under the Astral’s cruelty. A punishment for his uncertainty, and his reluctance towards the truth. Ignis could never be sure.

Noctis’ aching absence was uncertainty itself. And if Noctis never returned to Caem and strangers found it little more than the hollow shell of a home and a man, it would be so. Ignis would not stride the land alone.

Keeping his fingers snared tightly in his blanket, Ignis rest his head against the back of his chair and simply breathed. _Take it all,_ he dared the sea. _Wash it all away._

Ocean water crashed against the cliffs. It would be laughably easy to stake claim to all of Eos and wipe the fouled slate anew. Ignis only wished that letting go could be so very simple.

The storm lashed on for hours, and Ignis remained until the last droplets were absorbed into the soil.

-X-

The cell towers had fallen into disrepair long ago. Either that, or Ignis’ family had ceased to care.

In the first few days his phone had rung ceaselessly - incessantly so. All hours of the day and night and Ignis had fumbled to set it on silent, unable to bear the pressure and to avoid the interest of his temporary companions.

He was sure he drew more than enough curious eyes. A blind man adorned in all black, scarred and silent, bargaining with any truck willing to carry such a liability if he gave them incentive enough. Ignis refused to speak amongst their company and kept his head low, disguising his accent and casting his cane aside. If they recognised the man with the ruined eyes from all the stories that had flown across the settlements, they said nothing. And the calls of his worried loved ones continued to go unanswered, their voice messages unheard.

Ignis walked his own miserable path, searching for something that would never come.

A small rotting clump of guilt stuck to his aching ribs. It left him breathless in his makeshift beds, unable to embrace rest the way he remembered. Leaving may have been a mistake. Maybe Ignis had burned several of the few bridges remaining to him – casting love and care aside in a fit of misery. Like a child he tantrum and ran away from home. Ignis thought himself too mature for such acts, and yet, here he was.

There was little inside him past that guilt that cared much. It was quiet at Cape Caem, blessedly so, and well worth the harsh days of travel that Ignis had endured bouncing around from settlement to settlement. Caem was not home but it was a shelter, and the last place in Lucis where Noctis had felt truly safe. Ignis could listen and wait – wait patiently for his duty to return, and to cling to him with desperate hands.

Surely Noctis would know to meet him here, and surely his family would understand. They had to, men of their calibre, constricted by the role the gods had pushed upon them in lieu of a gift but endlessly moving forwards. Even if Ignis could barely make sense of the wicked truth that the Kings had revealed to him, Ignis told himself that they had to understand.

Life was indeed twisted. Life was indeed cruel, but Ignis could not stand their cloying voices and grasping hands. _Stay here,_ they had said. _Stay with your father,_ and Ignis could only sit and languish in simmering resentment as he was left behind again and again.

And then the calls had trickled like a stilted river to a halt. It had been a blessing in the early days. There had been the frequent buzz of his phone against the kitchen counter like Ignis’ teeth rattling within his skull. By the end of the week there were merely a handful with his voicemail inbox too full to bursting to take any more abuse, and at the end of the fortnight they had almost stopped entirely.

Ignis wasn’t sure what he should think. In the end the answer was nothing at all – his heart was rendered a lump of stone, ugly and unfeeling. There was nothing beyond. Nothing within. His fire had been suffocated and snuffed out entirely.

It was not to say that Ignis did not miss his family. There were cherished memories half obscured by the endless frustration. Iris’ beautiful laughter, and the steady hands of his father. The energetic motions that possessed Talcott’s tiny form. But the cruel flames that has stolen his sight made those fond memories blacken and curl, crumble into mere ash. Little was left to him unmarked and it pained him to attempt to reach beyond the haze. It was never long before he recalled their doubt, and how they shackled him with well-meaning oppression.

To remained trapped in domesticity was not Ignis’ fate. He had seen the truth draped with death’s shroud, and he would not lay bedbound and useless while Noctis’ power steadily grew. They would be reunited in time and seek the power to change the ending that the gods strove to write. Ignis would serve, and Noctis would remain their king.

If only Ignis knew how to serve in such a bewildering world.

By the time the skies had cleared into the same depressing grey Ignis had put himself to bed. Cold settled within the old house whenever it rained and Ignis pulled his blankets up to his chin to avoid the chill. Rain still dripped somewhere within the house. Ignis could not find the leak.

He left a window cracked open to listen to the sea. Wet soil met his nose. It meant little to most, but it was one of his few remaining comforts. The air was peaceful for once, unblemished by the echoing bellows of those who stalked the night.

Perhaps tonight Ignis could sleep.

Time meant even less to him than any other man. Unable to bask in the uncontested beauty of the ocean or watch the stars, he knew only the needs of his stomach and bladder. The hour was unknown to him and exhausted under the strain of extraordinarily little sleep, he dozed fitfully, finding no reason to rise. Perhaps he dreamed – he could not be sure. Familiar faces merged with the shadow and the clouds, one with ash. Hands upon his waist and kisses along his bare shoulders had become far more a nightmare than any comfort.

With no responsibilities to speak of Ignis no longer had any routine. In Lestallum life had been much the same. But here there was no torment of needs carried by the people of the city – needs that Ignis had been prevented from filling, no matter his eagerness and ability. Still Ignis woke and dressed once even glimpses of rest were beyond him, all alone in the quiet. Time slipped still and his chores were few. It was easy to clean up after himself and Ignis saw little point in making more than canned meals for himself or slices of fruit before they rotted away.

There was nothing he could do to care for Iris’ once busy garden and Ignis instead spent much of his time out by Jared’s tombstone, plucking the weeds his careful hands discovered, or encouraging the old generator back to life when he heard it falter. Waiting, aimless, all for the service of his king. Waiting to be noticed for his struggles, and alone for the first time in decades.

Signs of life came along rarely. Caem had been a hub when the Marshal settled their patchwork family down, merchants and farmers coming to investigate the new flurry of activity. _The old place has been abandoned for years_ , one of them chattered as they pressed gil into his hand, a basketful of carrots upon the ground, and it’s good to see it being cared for at last.

And they must have been a sight. Ignis laughed at the thought, a strange family made of two children and a dozen men, armed to the teeth. But they had been happy, safe and well fed, and that was all that mattered.

Most of the visitors move on quickly. It was easy to be unnerved by Ignis’ careful quiet and Cor’s stoic gaze, the dark cloth of the King’s men. One or two remained to peddle their wares and trucks sped by often, occasionally making pit stops to stretch their legs, waving casual hellos to Talcott and Iris as they called out their welcomes. Ignis had been half surprised to find Caem empty, even entirely untouched. Only he braved the emptiness of the orchard, the dark path to somewhere Ignis had once considered home.

Well – there was another, but Ignis was not yet sure she was an entirely welcome guest.

The woman’s visits were sporadic and brief. Often Ignis could hear her coming - if not the spluttering engine of her car or the branches cracking beneath her feet, it was the dithering on his porch.

Madhuri was hesitant to face him at times. Ignis did not blame her. It took a miserable man to live in such solitude and his gaze was unnerving to most. When they met he watched her closely, utterly silent with his face sour and scars bold. Ignis doubted her faithfulness – one day his last connection to the world beyond would no longer visit, and yet she still came.

Today Madhuri was brave.

A clear knock on the front door rang out as Ignis shrugged into his shirt. Out of habit Ignis sharply glanced towards his ajar bedroom door. His hand froze for a second until he very slowly finished with his last button and straightened out his collar. It would be time to wash his clothes again soon, he mused.

It was simply an assumption. One day it was likely not Madhuri who stood at his door, instead a stranger waiting to take advantage of a blind man living alone. Still Ignis knew little fear or concern. The magic gifted to him by the kings he served still was within his reach, and he could still swing his blades. Even if he could not guide them, he could still easily track a voice or footsteps. It had been years since his sense was stolen, and Ignis grew more and more accustomed to his surroundings with each day.

In the face of this he rolled his shoulders hard, magic already beginning to numb his fingertips in preparation of fire and condemned himself to the unknown. Curiosity and the slowly increasing emptiness of his cupboards fuelled him.

Grasping the bannister outside his bedroom, no longer having to pat down his feet to find the steep stairs, he made his way out and along the hall. The air was cold and his feet were chilly against the laminated flooring, belly aching with dormant hunger. Silence curled around his steady breathing and footfalls and Madhuri waited patiently. Never had she knocked twice.

Clearing his thick throat, horse from disuse, he ambled to the door. Old floorboards creaked underfoot, and he paused at the door to call, “Yes?”

“Hello,” Madhuri uncertainly responded. She was the soft-spoken sort, and never raised her voice. “It’s just me.”

There was a bolt lock across the door. Ignis always fumbled with it. He cracked the door open, always standing defensively between her and the room beyond. Flame licked along his pale fingers, curling along his wrist. Now his entire arm was numbed. “Hello,” he greeted.

Ignis’ only visitor shuffled from foot to foot. By the sound of things, she wore heavy and practical boots, and breathed shallowly. Some plastic rustled and Ignis knew what she carried. “Hello,” she said again, a touch relieved. “I brought… some of the usual today. As much as I could.”

Ignis had sworn to himself long ago that he would never depend on the kindness of a stranger again. It was depressing and humiliating to lay so vulnerable, unable to hunt and to earn his own keep. The first time Madhuri brought him offerings he had shut the door on her without a word, too incensed to hear her squeaking protests. The anger and shame that her insult gave had boiled and curdled his blood all at once. Grinding the heel of his palm against sightless eyes, he had sworn colourfully – vehemently. He was sure that she had heard and made a slow, reluctant exit.

But his needs were many and independence a fragile thing – so choking on his pride when Madhuri came again the next day, Ignis apologised and grit out his thanks. She had left him with packages, cans, bottles of water, but only once he had politely and repeatedly refused to accompany her north to Lestallum.

Her kindness was quiet and depreciating. It reminded Ignis painfully of Prompto. “Gotta stick together, you know,” she said with a strong Leiden twang and a small laugh and scurried back to her car once Ignis had said very little past his thank you, and all without a smile. He had shut the door with the hamper in his hands and listened as her engine came to life and quickly disappeared down the path.

They knew nothing of each other’s story. For Ignis that was the strangest part – Madhuri led her own life in a new and intimidating world, and Ignis continued to squander his, and yet they had stumbled upon one another. While the time between her visits slipped by undescribed, and were entirely uneventful, the sheer danger of her actions remained.

No matter how she prodded, Ignis would wait, and would do so until the end of days if necessary.

Caem was a comfortable enough deathbed. It was no longer blessedly warm in the streaming sunshine, no longer messy with noisy family constantly in and out of the door, but within these walls Ignis still felt safe. The trees had shed their leaves long ago, wickedly twisting limbs reaching for an endless sky, and still obscured the old house on the hill. Few drove past and beyond Madhuri’s recklessness, none tried to venture into the old lighthouse. It was useless to them now, and Ignis spent his days waiting, tidying, seeking absolution.

But here she was yet again, something living and breathing in stark relief of his loneliness, and he nodded at her. “Thank you,” he said. “How are you today?”

A beat of quiet, and then she spluttered. “Ah – sorry, I shrugged, I forgot you were – well, I’m fine. Getting on by, I guess, same as anyone.” She paused again and hummed. “How are you? Anyone else visit?”

Ignis lowered his gaze. “No.”

“Ah,” she said again, a bit of broken record, and cleared her throat. “Can’t suppose I can convince you to come back to Lestallum with me this time, can I?”

“I don’t think so,” he replied, and unable to read her expression he focused on her tone, ears sharper than ever.

“Yeah, I get it,” she sighed, and before he might not have been able to pick up on all the layers of her disappointment. Underlying anxiety made her voice tremble, the regret ensuring softness, and if Ignis were a truly lost man the guilt alone might have been enough to pack him up. But he was rooted to the ground, lashed by his want and his duty, and that would never change. “I’ll leave the stuff with you. But… can I leave you my number? Just in case you need anything, or I can’t make the trip. Just in case.”

Ignis tilted his head. “Are the cell towers still in operation?”

“Oh, yeah. I mean, barely. But we’re still holding on!”

There was no kindling left to spark within his chest. Ignis could not even feel peace. “I see,” he murmured. Then they were lost to him too. “If that gives you some peace, then yes.”

Madhuri deflated with relief, her breath a long exhale. “Thank you,” she said, and he could hear the quirk of her lips. “Here – I’ll give you mine, and you can message me – uh, do you have the voice to text on your phone? Or you can call me? I’m, uh. Not sure how this works.”

It was still amusing to watch people fumble around him. Finding humour in it was all he could do. “That is how it works, yes. I will call you. Your number?”

Madhuri dutifully rattled off a string of numbers – a Leiden area code, Ignis recognised – and Ignis committed them to memory easy enough. Fishing his phone out of his pocket he activated Kweh, murmuring the numbers in turn, and saved the contact.

“Call Madhuri,” he commanded, and after a moment of silence her phone began to buzz.

“Thank you,” she said gratefully, sounding much happier than she had before. “Makes me feel so much better. I worry about you out here, you know.”

_Evidently._ Ignis tucked his phone back into his inner jacket pocket and gazed toward her voice. “There is nothing to worry about. I am content alone.”

More scuffing of boots on the floor. Madhuri was the anxious sort, it seemed, much like Prompto’s endless shuffling and chatter. Ignis didn’t miss it all that much these days. “How, though?”

Tilting his head, Ignis gave her voice a pointed look. “Some people prefer their own company.”

“I guess,” Madhuri said slowly, but it was clear to her tone that she was not convinced. “Okay, I’ll – I’ll get going. But – call me, if you need anything. Anything at all. Okay? I’ll come to you.”

It was sweet if not misguided. At least some had not lost the faith. Humanity, years into a nightmare, was not entirely lost.

It was enough for him to push a smile. If it reached his eyes Ignis did not know. “Thank you,” he said. “Please do drive safely.”

Without delay Ignis clicked his door shut. He waited a few long moments, listening intently for her, and it was a few seconds longer before she moved. Heavy boots made the front stairs creak nosily and finally her car started up again, a wheezing old thing barely capable of life, and it spluttered down the dirt pathway, fading with time.

Satisfied for the first time in a long while Ignis double locked the door. What felt like a lifetime ago Dustin had installed a chain and a bar on each door and window – just in case, his steely look had said, and none of them had spoken of it. These days Ignis left most of them firmly locked, ignoring the dust that easily built up in such a large home, and basked in the sound of brutal weather from the master bedroom alone.

Now it was time to sort his cupboards. Madhuri’s delivery was largely a mystery assortment each time. He supposed it was whatever she could get her hands on that didn’t require much preparation. Those foods were in high demand. Caem’s microwave was a temperamental thing and Ignis’ had earned himself burns whilst distracted at the stovetop.

Each can had been a test to Ignis’ bold stomach and keen nose. She brought canned fruits and fish, soups and vegetables, and Ignis supposed he was most thankful for a balanced diet at the least.

Perhaps it was unkind to chase her away with his unfriendly nature. Despite his icy reception he was in a way thankful for Madhuri’s assistance. It would have been weeks of silence and stillness without her. Now Ignis was in no danger of running out of food the way he had been, and it prevented him from the worst-case scenarios – calling Dave for assistance, or even his family.

The future lay far beyond him. Once it had been sprawling, full of endless possibilities. Now it was one single corridor, narrow and stifling, and Ignis could not walk it alone. So he would wait and eat, for the guiding hand of his king, and hate himself all the while.

-X-

Mere hours later, another harder knock roused him from an ill-adviser doze on the sofa.

Ignis found himself instantly awake. It was difficult to know how long he had slept for – the world remained cold and dark, his only protection a heavy blanket, and the winds beyond the house had not ceased. The roof groaned beneath the might and Ignis lay prone, eyes unblinking and cast skyward.

It was easy to let go of the sound. It must have been part of his dream. But doubt lingered. A cloying, poisonous feeling, and Ignis couldn’t quite release the feeling that nagged at him. He could not breathe and waited for his nerves to settle. A pressure began to overwhelm his chest.

There was nothing but the howling wind. The backdoor rattled in its frame and Ignis shrank into the sofa. He pulled the blanket back up into his chin and steeled himself again, knowing that time was a fleeting thing. Sleeping so often made him sick. That was all he had done back in Lestallum – slept and bickered and he felt disgusting, like he was wasting away.

All the while his dreams taunted him. His waking hours were filled with shame and the ache of pain caught within bruised skin. When he slept there were cold hands, wicked whispers from kings, and the thrashing water.

_Noctis_ , his foolish heart called, and hated himself even more.

Ignis turned his head and closed his eyes. At least the pillow remained soft. He no longer wanted to sleep, but there was naught else to do.

Moments later, the knock sounded again – sharper, and commanding.

His heart seized. It could not be mistaken for anything else than a stranger at his door. Ignis had long lost the flowerpots that Iris had hung by the door to a fierce storm, and nothing else could recreate that same purposeful noise. Startled he sat up sharply, head snapping towards the doorway, and his stomach refused to settle.

Madhuri would surely not have returned so soon. The anxiety inspired his magic. Ignis struggled to focus it but he narrowed all his awareness into the disconnected power that faltered within. It was lesser. It was weak with Noctis’ absence, working best when allied side by side with his king, and Ignis could no longer summon his blades. He had learned to keep them close at hand and fumbled for them on the coffee table, neatly crossed over each other.

The weight was familiar, reassuring, and he swung his legs off the sofa to face those who interrupted his vigil.

They did not knock again. Long moments passed as Ignis crept forward on purposeful feet. Ignis had grown to know the loud floorboards well and he sidestepped them, flanking the stairs for a while. He barely breathed, listening intently for the sounds of life at his door, drowned out by the weather.

Soon Ignis steadied his hand against the door. It rattled and moaned but Ignis could hear no voices or movement beyond. Apprehension made his chest flutter, body tense. A stranger might have already moved on or had circled the home to seek refuge. Madhuri may have doubled back but Ignis knew she would have called ahead. No beast could knock so purposefully, and Ignis did not want strangers in his home.

He swallowed around the thick knot of doubt within his throat. “Who is it,” he called through the door, his uncertainty giving him no room to breathe, daggers at the ready.

A creak of the weakened wooden boards came from beyond. The stairs were frail old things. “Ignis,” an all too familiar voice called to him, a low rumble that Ignis knew all too well, and Ignis’ heart ceased to beat.

It was a difficult thing, breathing. A shock to his system knocked him off his axis and Ignis could not exist the way he used to. The lump grew larger and Ignis’ nails scraped against the oak.

A strange mix of emotions came to him and each fought for dominance. Alarm came to him first – the shock of being found and a familiar voice after so long. Anger closely followed, a hot temper that was never far from his heart. Anxiety and discomfort roiled and battled, each surging forward to rule his head and heart, and Ignis couldn’t help but fumble with the chain and bar.

The wind outside was bracing. It was a struggle to open the door against the hard breeze and Ignis had left his blanket crumpled upon the floor. It was terribly cold and Ignis pinched his shoulders closer, agitated by the touch of ice and rain. “Father,” he said, and something in his chest ached.

Surprise was not a strong enough word. Ignis had worked hard to shake off those who hunted him. Back tracking on himself and shying away from hunters and crowds, paying couriers for their secrecy. Caem was hardly a unique destination – Ignis knew he may as well have moved down the street in Lestallum and called it hiding – but Cor had not sought him in weeks. Ignis thought he had been left to his devices and considered his pain fleeting.

And yet he was here – silent and secretive, wearing an expression Ignis was half fortunate he could not see.

“Hey, Igs,” Cor murmured, and the exhaustion he carried was all too clear. The past few years had been hard on his father, slipping from bad to worse, and Ignis remembered how tired his eyes had become even before they had left Insomnia. Cor had always been a man to let his duty pile upon him, a man quietly plagued by many stresses, and Ignis had not envied him one bit.

Ignis gazed toward his voice. It was a relentless onslaught of emotions, something he was long unaccustomed to. Weary defeat and careful stoicism was assaulted by the warmth of familiarity, though the unfeeling stone remained unassailable. He opened the door wider, hand braced against the frame.

It had so long. A mixed opinion had taunted him during his most restless moments and now gave way to relief and yet dread, the confidence of knowing his father still cared enough to hunt for him and the discomfort of knowing he was here - no doubt seeking answers.

Worse followed hot on his heels. “Iggy,” Prompto said, unnervingly close, and Ignis recoiled. A sharp intake of breath followed and then a small sniffle. “Sorry - I should have – sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Ignis said awkwardly, and cleared his throat. Pinned between two violent reminders of his past, his mistakes and those who looked up to him, he remained vulnerable. “You found me, then.”

Cor’s laughter was not warm. Ignis wondered if they had spied his daggers. In retrospect, it seemed pitiful. “I won’t lie and say it was hard. This is one of the first places we tried.”

Willing his pained heart to recover, too slow for his liking, he cast a look back toward Cor. “Truly?”

“You weren’t here for a long time, sure,” Cor said and Ignis could hear the wry twist of his smile. Surely his eyes were dark, displeased. “But we kept an eye on the place, and sure enough. Here you are.”

A sense of shame washed over him. He lowered his eyes in humility and exhaled through his nostrils. He stood between them and his home, uncertain, but knowing he would not let them inside. “I apologise,” he said, as if speaking again to the Kings of Old, glaring down in judgement.

“Hey, it’s all good,” Prompto said, and tried to laugh casually. It emerged horribly strained. Ignis could hear him bouncing on the balls of his feet. The wood beneath moaned. “Gotta get away the noise of city somehow, right?”

Ignis’ jaw flexed. When he didn’t respond or even look up, Cor cleared his throat.

“We’ll be gone soon. Promise.” Leather creaked and the wind rustled beyond. Ignis had walked through the trees in some time. Some of them had bent and bowed beneath the wind. “We just needed to come and ask a few questions - if you could spare the time.”

Ignis was made of nothing but time. But it was a large step. As stilted as he felt, as lonely as the long weeks had been, welcoming them inside was too far. And as if Cor could see into the depths of his murky mind, he continued, “There’s no need to welcome us inside. I understand, Ignis.”

_Do you?_ Gratitude and guilt came to him unbidden. Cor understand, he said, but he couldn’t possibly. Surely he was angry or hurt, disappointed in his eldest fleeing from his duty. Like he was a little boy again, wanting to play amongst the daisies rather than study his history. Cor had fished him out of the flower beds a dozen times. Back then he had always worn a fond smile, and promised _later._

They were alone. Ignis was almost positive. Only Prompto had made the short journey south and somehow that hurt more. Gladio’s memory was a sharp and vicious thing, his grudges eternal, and Ignis had always pitied those it focused upon. Bearing the weight of his anger was something Ignis struggled to stomach.

“What is it,” he asked, and hated Prompto’s short and disappointed exhale.

“Alright,” Cor’s tone was remarkably even with enviable patience. It made the snakes in Ignis’ gut writhe in guilt. “How have you been?”

Ignis straightened up and lifted his head, swallowing hard. His fingers drummed against the door and his nails picked at the peeling paint. “Fine, thank you.”

“That’s good. Are you alone?”

“Yes,” he said, and basked in pride when his voice refused to waver.

“Have you always been alone?”

It hurt to speak the truth. “Yes.”

A strange and ruinous noise left Cor’s throat. It was covered up so quickly Ignis almost doubted that he heard it. “I see,” he murmured.

Prompto teetered forward. “This whole time?” Disbelief oozed from his tone. “Alone?”

Ignis focused on forcing the words through his grit teeth. “A woman has visited now and again, who brings necessities. I did not know her beforehand. No one else has come.”

A moment passed in howling silence. Ignis imagined them staring in disbelief or exchanging coy glances, thinking they would have to dig for the truth. “I swear it,” he insisted.

“No, no, we believe you,” Prompto hurriedly explained. “It’s just...”

Each of them faltered. There was a brief bristle of hair – Cor scratching at his own untamed chin. There was never time to shave during the apocalypse. Ignis must have looked a state. Shaving alone and blind was a simple enough task. It was simply that he didn’t care enough to maintain his appearance.

Finally, Cor grumbled, the sound awkward and almost endearing. Ignis was very used to that noise. “It’s about Gladio,” he explained with a hesitant lilt. “We haven’t heard from him in a while. Nor have we been able to locate him, and we had hoped… well, that he might have gone looking for you.”

For a few moments longer nothing changed in Ignis’ hollowed chest. Ignis frowned deeply. “Gladio is gone?”

“Yes,” Cor said, deathly serious. “Gone, from Lestallum.”

A little incredulous, Ignis laughed. His hand slipped from the doorway and began to tremble. “Off on one of his many hunts, I’m sure. Gladio never was one for sharing the glory. He’ll be back in a day or two.”

The floorboards creaked under their restless weight. Foul winds began to wail, parting the trees, making the weak branches crack and tumble down. “That’s what we thought at first,” Prompto sounded tired all the way to his bones. Ignis rarely had heard him so weary. “But we know him, Iggy, and this isn’t right. He would never just up and leave without saying anything, or without staying in contact. He – he just wouldn’t leave.”

_Unlike you_ , something said, in no voice Ignis had ever heard.

A touch affronted, Prompto blustered. “He wouldn’t just leave,” he insisted, _not like you, never so childish._ It wasn’t something Prompto would ever dream of saying – ugly and barbed, too sour for so sweet a mouth, and still Ignis swore it met his ears.

“I’m sure anything is possible, considering the unique circumstances,” Ignis shrugged, ignoring the persistent crush of his heart, the heartbeat within his head. “The hunters must keep track of where even we go. They even know who sleeps upon which haven. I’m sure Gladio will turn up there.”

“We’ve tried that,” Cor replied, not unkindly. “It’s been over a week.”

That was enough to give him pause. “A week?”

“And no sign of him,” Cor confirmed, grim to his core. An uneasy feeling settled between them, like mud after a storm. Cloying and impossible to shake. “I’ve checked with Dave, with Cid. Even Sania. They’ve got nothing.”

“He’s not exactly a guy you can miss,” Prompto added, morose.

_Shit_ , Ignis thought, and discomfort made his skin crawl. Gladiolus was indeed not a quiet man, never one who did things by halves. His fire raged through the shoddily made encampments, his footfalls shaking the ground. It was said there was always a nasty mess to clear when he was done. Blood stained rock and miasma rotted away.

These were rumours alone. Ignis had never been permitted to experience it first-hand despite how fiercely they always rowed. Ignis was left to burn out, ‘til he was little more than ash. He had hated it, taunted by his lover’s absences, and hearing only whispers of his prowess, his heroic deeds.

Maybe Gladio had taken his departure harder than Ignis had anticipated. Gladio was never one to take an insult on the chin, and he was certainly passionate enough to tear the world apart looking for him. _I’m your lover,_ Ignis had raged a dozen times, _not your priceless doll to be put upon the shelf, never to be touched,_ and Gladio had certainly never kissed him like he was porcelain. Maybe he wanted nothing more than someone to warm his bed – and Ignis knew in an instant that such an accusation wasn’t fair.

Gladio sought him for certain. But Ignis had never heard him sniffing around, never be assailed by a giant at his door, and it was impossible to believe that not a soul had heard Gladio’s passing.

“We thought he might have gone looking for you,” Prompto suggested. “You know, because...”

Ignis laughed soullessly. Despite sharing an apartment together, it had been a long while since he and Gladio had been thick as thieves. It was remarkable what three years could do against their otherwise blissful two decades. “I haven’t seen or spoken to Gladio since or even before I departed. He called many times but quickly gave up when I did not answer.”

“Well. Message received,” Cor said, and his opinion was never betrayed by his careful mask of indifference. “He’s not here. Thanks for talking to us – we didn’t mean to intrude.”

Ignis hissed out a long exhale. He ran a hand through his hair mindlessly. “A whole week? Truly?”

Someone sighed like the weight of the world rest upon them. “He wasn’t answering any calls or knocks at the apartment. Wasn’t volunteering for security shifts like always. We had to get Prompto to break in through the window and he was just...gone.”

“Signs of a break in? A struggle?”

“Nothing,” Prompto sounded so downtrodden Ignis couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. “He had packed some stuff. So, it wasn’t exactly spur of the moment.”

Ignis quirked his head in thought and lost himself to dread. It was against everything they had known for any of them to depart without a single word, at least right up until Ignis had turned tail and fled. Ignis had torn up the playbook, scattered the pages, and the gods only knew where Gladio fell amongst it all.

“Listen - if you hear anything, - anything at all – can you just tell us?” Prompto’s tone was breathless, airy. “Iris is freaking out. Everything’s a mess.”

Ignis sunk his teeth into the side of his cheek. There was no escaping the titan will of the gods, nor the toiling hands of his brothers. This was uncharted territory.

These days, Ignis always felt lost at sea.

“Would you like to come in,” he asked without thinking about it, and wondered if they stared.

A beat passed in agony, and Cor said in that same weightless tone. “Yes, very much. If you’re comfortable with that.”

_Like that matters,_ Ignis thought, and stepped side. The door creaked wide open. “Please come inside,” he said, a little too stiffly to be genuine, and the protection of his haven was gone.

-X-

It was strange to have guests.

They were noisy men with Prompto’s constant restlessness and Cor’s thunderous presence. Dragging chairs and fingers drumming heavily against the table could not disguise the awkwardness between them, even when Ignis’ home was so often draped in silence. It was all harsh against his ears and he busied himself placing his weapons aside and fetching water bottles, the plastic crunching beneath his too rough hands.

They sat around his kitchen table quietly. It was theirs, he supposed, but Ignis felt a possessive surge, an outraged prickle against his skin. As vulnerable as he was, it was his home in his eyes. They were his guests, and Ignis would not entertain for long – just long enough to seek the truth.

Someone’s leather crackled. “The place looks nice,” Prompto said nervously, always one to relieve the tension.

Ignis’ smile was wry. “I couldn’t tell,” he said, and Cor softly cleared his throat.

He didn’t miss the sight of his brother wincing. “Sorry,” Prompto said, lifelessly.

Setting the water amongst between the two of them, he took his seat a polite distance from them both. Tucking one leg over his knee, clapping his hands together to call their attention – as if it would be anywhere else – he could almost kid himself that he sat before the Council again. “So,” he began. “How did you know I was here?”

Cor’s laughter was like grit. It carried all the strain of a man whose family was falling apart. “It’s not exactly a thousand leagues beneath the sea, Ignis. After it was clear you weren’t returning to Lestallum any time soon, I knew you would come here sooner than later.”

Ignis smiled thinly. “How so?”

“It’s free lodging, for one,” Cor said simply, and it inspired true laughter from Ignis. It escaped him in a bark that startled even himself. “Why pay a pretty gil or trade something precious when you can keep a private roof over your head easily?”

“Well,” Ignis drawled, and took a mouthful of his own water. “You’re not wrong. This is the first place I thought of.”

Prompto leaned across the oak. His chair moaned beneath his weight. Their legs were old and spindly. “But you weren’t here. The hunters said you went all over the place – back and forth. Slipping away from people who tried to help. Why would you do that?”

Ignis glanced his way. For the first time he was glad he couldn’t see Prompto’s expression. He could imagine him there, small and hurting, simply wanting to understand why. “You know where I’ve been? This whole time?”

“You weren’t answering our calls,” Prompto shot back, agitated. “Of course we were gonna look for you. Obviously we’d keep looking until we found you. You’re our family.”

“Prom,” Cor stepped in smoothly, and the boy’s voice fell away. “We’ve known for quite a while. We had no idea for twenty hours and all hell broke loose – your father was a wreck – and the panic, shall we say, encouraged us to look a little harder.” He laughed mirthlessly. “Who was the one who taught you to keep your head down all these years? You knew where to hide, and I knew where to look – and sure enough, there you were.”

Ignis bit back upon his distaste. His teeth ground harshly together. “Perhaps I didn’t want to be followed.”

“Sorry,” Cor said, clearly anything but. “These days no one has that kind of luxury.”

There was a hiss of breath escaping someone – Ignis turned his head, struggling to place the sound, but Prompto surged forward for him. “Are you serious? After all this, you just bounced, and don’t even tell us why? And you think we believe that you don’t know where Gladio has gone. Are you serious?”

Defensively Ignis sat back. His arms crossed tightly together, and he jut out his chin, anger simmering. It was a far better feeling that guilt. “I have no clue where he’s gone. And leaving was my decision, thank you.”

“And you’re not even gonna give us a reason why?”

Ignis remained silent. There was little he had to give, and nothing he was willing to part with. His reasoning was a bitter taste upon his tongue and the taste of poison would only serve to send his family into a frenzy. “I don’t see the need. I asked you in to talk about Gladio, not my own decisions.”

“You don’t-” Prompto spluttered, a hard edge of anger unfamiliar upon his tone. “Ignis, what the fuck-”

“Boys,” their father said abruptly, voice carrying like thunder throughout the hollow home. His palms smacked against the oak table hard, and Ignis knew that face. A scowl with fine but pointed wrinkles, stress and age exhausting him, and Ignis always loathed to see it. It meant his father was severely disappointed.

Both were unused to his raised voice outside of training. They faltered immediately, Prompto’s breathing rattling in his chest. Ignis could hear the rain again, not unlike the chill against his nape. He crossed his arms tightly to ward it all off, staring into nothingness.

A sigh heralded pure silence. Weariness touched all of them deeply, muscle overstressed and their minds taxed. Still Cor led them, hitting the table once more for good measure. “I think that’s enough,” he said, softer, and yet not gentle. “We will leave you in peace, Ignis.”

Prompto sat bolt upright, a current of energy. He carried the same surprise Ignis felt. They hadn’t even touched about Gladio. “We’re going?”

“We’ve hardly gotten anywhere. We’ve not learned anything new about Gladio’s whereabouts.” Cor said, a perfect bastion of calm as the rain picked up its pace. It drilled against the roof. “Ignis doesn’t know anything, and Gladio is out there somewhere still. Could be anywhere, and he might need our help.”

“But...” Prompto faltered. Plastic cracked repeatedly beneath his restless hands.

“It’s alright,” Cor continued undeterred. “We’ll find him and bring him home. Okay?”

A harsh scoff ruined the attempt. “Doing so well at holding it all together so far.”

Cor said nothing. Ignis remained silent in his seat, foot tapping endlessly, staring. His brows sank low and his shoulders were drawn tight. He paid his brother no heed.

It cast light upon the tatters of their life together. Brothers bickering, a lover long lost to him, and a father disappointed. It was enough to make Ignis nauseous if he carried anything left inside. He fisted his hair a moment, swearing to himself, and lost himself to despair.

It didn’t make any sense. It didn’t make any sense, and the dread was crawling over him, claiming Ignis’ chest and crushing it in an iron grasp.

“Thank you for your time,” Cor finally said when Ignis writhed in silence, and stood. The chair shrieked. “We’ll be going.”

Across the table Prompto didn’t budge. Ignis stood in his stead, letting his hands rest against the back of his chair. It grounded him. Thoughts of loss and regret whirled all the while. A nagging feeling of deep worry and guilt were chief amongst them, with dreams of a wicked smile and beautiful laugh that Ignis hadn’t known in years.

Soon he would be unbearably alone, with many more ghosts to plague his sleep. _Gods damn it all._

“Prom,” Cor said when Prompto failed to follow, and only with a sharp noise torn from the back of his throat did he finally, suddenly stand.

Boots scraped across the floor. Breathing harshly, Prompto headed straight for the door. Before any of them could speak he was wrenching the door open, stalking alone into the darkness.

Left behind, father and son stood helpless. Ignis could no longer string even a simple sentence together. He rolled his shoulders instead, letting the bones crack harshly. Swallowing down bile was almost too much to ask.

Cor’s beard bristled once more. It was a familiar sound. Almost soothing, the sound of Ignis’ childhood. He hadn’t ever seen Cor clean shaven, and he wondered how he looked. “I’m sorry that we disturbed you,” he said, and followed his youngest out at a slow pace. “I’ll contact you if we find Gladio – for your peace of mind, at least. And the same to you – if you hear anything at all, please let us know. We’re just worried about him.”

“Thank you,” Ignis said after swallowing hard, and didn’t follow Cor to the door.

Cor’s heavy boots stumped along dusty floorboards. He followed in Prompto’s footsteps perfectly. Ignis’ head followed, and his heart ached. A pain stung somewhere behind his eyeballs.

When Ignis had nothing further to say, Cor sighed. “I’ll tell your father you said hello,” he murmured, and Ignis closed his eyes to fend off prickling tears. “I love you, son.”

The door groaned and Cor lingered for the longest second. And then he was gone, and the door closed with a soft click.

Alone again, Ignis listened to the quickening rainfall above.

That would leave him too in time. Even now it was already slowing, a short spell of a storm. Ignis’ breath became unsteady panting and the sickness crawled up his throat again, enough to make him gag. His chest constricted sharply, lost in never ending darkness.

The world drifted beyond him. Gladio ventured further into the darkness – further even than Noctis.

The gods only knew what he had missed beyond these four walls. Ignis had been a faithful agent of his king – his right hand, his dagger, his brother. Now he was a recluse, a godsdamn shut in who couldn’t even tell his father he loved him despite it all.

The machinations of his loved ones were beyond him, and Ignis would sleep, eat, and simply wait for something he could never guarantee would come. And the world would fall further from his grasp. Perhaps, one day, forever beyond his reach. Ignis ran the risk of waiting years. Years of stars that Ignis could no longer see, of Madhuri’s anxiety laden visits and his cold, empty bed. He was vulnerable and pitiful, a child again.

Even now those he loved were at risk. Monica defended the homestead and Dustin had taken Jaren’s place as guardian of the children. But they too stepped out to be amongst the demons, supporting the hunters where necessary, and the world was struggling and starving. Gladio was out there, fighting or dying, never knowing that Ignis thought of him still. Thoughts of him came every damn day. It was its worst when sleep shunned him, when Ignis’ heart yearned for something that was long taken from him.

“Shit,” he grunted, fisting his hair. “Fuck,” he said, and stumbled thoughtlessly around the table in the creeping throes of a half-baked anxiety attack.

His feet caught in the legs of the chair Prompto thoughtlessly left askew. Ignis lost his footing and could barely right himself again. It spun his world on its axis. He guided himself with an uncertain hand across what he thought could have been the table and as he came to its end, he lurched to the right to find the wall. He knocked a painting he could not recall almost from the wall and faltered until he reached the front door, chipping wood and cold metal, a draft upon his bare feet.

Anxious hands scrambled at the wood. They found and shook the doorhandle. Yet the door refused to give and Ignis tugged and twisted, swearing. “Come on,” he urged.

Finally able to wrench it open, he forced himself through. He was careless enough to almost slip down the stairs and emerged into the harsh rain. An engine rumbled down the path and Ignis wounded his feet, wincing at sticks and stones embedding themselves into unguarded flesh. The engine was the loudest thing he had heard in weeks. It rattled his bones and his feet sank into the dirt. “Cor,” he called, chest heaving.

A vehicle door slammed. The engine remained and boots sluiced through the muck, hands suddenly upon his shoulders. “Iggy,” he said gruffly, a worry that Ignis had heard all throughout his childhood. “Iggy, what’s wrong?”

“I want,” he began and swallowed roughly. His throat burned. “I want…”

_I don’t want to be alone. I want to be useful. I want my family, my friends, my lover._

The words stuck in the ridges of his constricting throat. With a heavy and twisted noise, he cleared his throat fully, feeling the fool. _Shame is poison, and uselessness is death,_ he told himself, and forced the words free. Ignis would not rot alone in his reluctance to feel what was perfectly natural.

“Let me follow,” he breathed, praying his eyes would not stare over Cor’s shoulder. “Until we find Gladiolus – we cannot afford to have our numbers thinned even further. I must…I must know that if Noctis returns, and not to myself, that he will be in good hands.”

Cor exhaled roughly, and his breath shuddered. “Like I’m going to argue right now,” he said. “But I won’t lie. It’s not going to be an easy task.”

_I have to know. I must._ “I am more than capable,” he stressed, with no self-assurance. The world had become a toiling place. “Let me follow. Gladiolus is not a man to wander. There must be something wrong.”

“Alright,” Cor murmured, so close to his ear. He squeezed his bicep softly in encouragement. “Is there stuff you need inside? Your phone? Food?”

“Yes, yes,” Ignis said, distracted in his haze. He abruptly felt foolish for moving so hastily. “I-”

“Come on,” he replied, releasing him. “Prom?”

The door on the furthest side opened. “What’s happening?” Prompto called, voice wavering in uncertainty.

“Ignis is joining us,” Cor responded, and Ignis was thankful again that he could not see Prompto’s expression shift. “We’re going to grab his things. Cut the engine, stay here, and blast the horn if there’s trouble, alright?”

Immediately Prompto’s voice flattened again, “Alright,” he said, strained, and the door slammed shut again only a second later. The engine swiftly followed and it left them both in an awkward silence, caught off guard at their new circumstances. Ignis had barely been in control of his own body.

“He’ll be fine, in time,” Cor reassured him, tired of waiting for Ignis to ask. “So – shall we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just adding again - thank you to sanj (@kidgrayson on twitter, and kidgraysonx on tumblr) for the art used at the very beginning of the chapter!


	2. Chapter 2

Over the weeks that Ignis had spent as a recluse, the state of Cape Caem had only grown increasingly pitiful. Amongst the messes that he had allowed to fester, it took longer than he thought to collect even his meagre possessions.

But Cor was ever patient, with sharp eyes still, and finally Ignis had squeezed himself into the back of the unfamiliar van they drove once he had quickly changed into his thermals. Out on the wild plains of Lucis, they were a necessity and often a life saver.

Now Ignis kept his bag upon his lap, half filled with heavy soup cans and weightless old clothes. Folding his hands over one another, he kept his eyes forward as Cor quickly settled into the driver’s seat.

In the passenger seat Prompto sat silent. No-one made for the radio. Cor adjusted himself at the wheel, forcing his seat forward for the sake of Ignis’ folded legs. This car was not made with men of their stature in mind. “We’ll be off to Meldacio first,” Cor said to fill the awful quiet. “We’ve been there before to see Dave, but I want to speak to Ezma if necessary. We can eat there and plan our future movements then.”

No-one responded. Ignis drummed his fingers against his kneecaps, breathing the musty, nausea inducing scent of the car. It was warm, and strange. Stranger yet to be within the cramped confines of family, to hear the slow and soft breathing of another. Prompto smelt of stale sweat, and strangely enough the artificial scent of strawberry. Cor smelt like spice; his cologne long abandoned.

The car rumbled to life between them and after Cor carefully backed out into the road, cautious of the trees and traffic from the nearby tunnel, then hurried along their way.

It had been a monumental effort for the newly formed team at Hammerhead to find them what hundreds required – vehicles, spare parts, scrap and kits. Even if the gods bestowed kindness and gifts upon them, they could never have the hours needed in a day. Cid had emerged into the fray again, taking his orders from his daughter and working as hard as his frail body could allow.

Cindy in turn had taken on anyone with a knack for handiwork, exchanging a roof over their head and all the food Takka could get his hands on for their time and ability. Orphans in particular flocked to her, those without hope, curling up on spare mattresses brought over from the towns left abandoned. Together they worked to salvage and scavenge within the safety of Hammerhead’s new steel walls. Nothing was to be wasted.

They had gifted Cor with a souped-up old hunk of metal, Cor told Ignis as they drove, something that had belonged to Cid himself once upon a time. It was ancient and worn, and apparently looked like it had been through hellfire even after it had been scrubbed up. But Cor would never shun such a gift, receiving it gratefully, and Ignis rather imagine that his father had damn near looked fond seeing it again. Knowing the man it was destined for Cindy had made it as reliable and recognisable as the man himself, with shockingly bright headlamps and an awful paintjob, flying down the quiet roads.

Cor would not dare risk the lives of what little family remained to him. While he moved cautiously through the winding tunnel between locations, always aware of the silent Arachne that were notorious for dropping from high above, he tore across the open road. Ignis could no longer hear the rhythmic crash of the sea - only the rush of tire along tarmac.

“I’ve been teaching Prompto crisis driving,” Cor said, apparently uncomfortable staring down the silence. Ignis did not blame him. “Thought I might as well, since I started teaching Iris.”

Prompto became the elephant in the car. He sat sullenly until Ignis took a twisted form of mercy. “I’m surprised you found the time, or the space.”

“Well,” Cor said, and Ignis knew it was guiltily. He no longer had much time to care for himself, let alone rejoice in the comforts of home. “It’s not always me. Sometimes it’s Monica.”

Ignis laughed humourlessly. “I see you’re still not letting father outside then, and Dustin is still playing babysitter.”

A beat of silence passed them by. Cor’s foot squeezed the accelerator harder. “Amais doesn’t want to leave home,” Cor finally said. “And there’s no point in him leaving. It’s too dangerous for a civilian.”

“Hm,” Ignis simply said, and Cor didn’t speak again.

All too easily Ignis lost track of their path. It had been so long, and he barely remembered the sight of the roads or cliff. Try as he might his eyes had been drawn to the glistening sea, his ears only for Iris’ pure delight. Never before had she been able to bask in the endless ocean. Everything before this moment was from journals, encyclopaedias, and Ignis had been thrilled to share the moment.

Back then Ignis wondered to himself where would life take them. Those same thoughts lingered, now cast in a much more unflattering light.

With all Gladio’s considerable might and all his unenviable weaknesses, he was faithful to a fault. His abrupt disappearance was startling to say the very least, a wave of frozen water thrown over their unsuspecting heads, numbing from their temples to their toes. Lucis had proven itself to be a wild and unpredictable place, and here was somewhere Gladio could thrive, in love with nature and the romanticised life of a hunter. But reality would dawn and Gladio would never be able to walk alone for long. He was always a social creature in way Ignis had never been.

With all of his habits in mind, Ignis had no idea where Gladio could have fled. A hunter’s camp was much too obvious. There were no secrets between the hunters and word would sluggishly make its way to Cor’s ears. Gladio would have to pass through or stock up eventually – it was a matter of word moving quick enough to catch him, men scrabbling to capture smoke within their bare hands.

At the end of all Gladio would have to be somewhere. A man larger than life, he was unmissable, and with any luck Ignis would return to Cape Caem within days – able to sleep easier, at least, knowing his family were alive and clearly worried about him, even if he was never fully satisfied.

They would pull Gladio out of whatever hovel he lounged within, doubtless licking his own wounds and picking fights with strangers to relieve his stresses, and they could happily return to pretending their situation wasn’t as dismal as it truly was. _Simple_.

Ignis worked very hard to ignore the empty pit in the bottom of his stomach, gradually yawning wider and wider, unable to shake a terrible feeling.

-X-

Ignis hadn’t visited Meldacio in years.

At some point the tarmac had become ruptured. Fortunately, Cor had seen it coming, or at least knew of the dangers, and they had slowed to a cautious speed by the time their wheels bounced and bumped over the worst of the damage.

Finally, they slowed to almost a halt, Cor’s window squeaking open as he gave the signal out of the window, and Ignis knew the guards were murmuring, endlessly curious. Such talk always heralded the Marshal’s approach and Ignis felt each eye on them as they were permitted entrance into the HQ. He had heard that they installed steel gates at the very mouth of the cave, platforms beyond for hunters to stand on guard, and the grinding metal groaned open. Each settlement had built them up as quickly as they could, desperate to hold back the hordes of mutated beasts and demons alike, and the roads became almost entirely silent.

As they crept through the gate they trundled through mud. Cor’s fingers drummed against the steering wheel as Ignis adverted his eyes, gazing at his knees to avoid strangers beyond their windows.

As Ignis had many years before Cor parked closely to the cave wall, carefully to leave enough space against the rock. People ambled by the roadside, no doubt trying their best to peer into the darkened glass, lowering their voices. Prompto sniffled and they all sat in the awkward unease.

Cor must have been aware of it. He wasn’t a fool, nor was he emotionally stunted, and gave a long-suffering sigh as he rattled around with the glove compartment before shouldering open his door. “C’mon,” he said and as always Prompto followed him without question. “Let’s see who’s here.”

Ignis followed at his own pace. Shoving his bag onto the floor and sliding his phone into his jacket pocket, he gave a long and satisfying stretch. Something in the small of his back popped hard and Ignis grunted, pleased. Only then did he follow, listening intently for the footfalls of his companions.

They had not wandered far. When Cor called down to him his head was angled down, looking back to the car. An echo bounced within the wide tunnel, making tracking them harder than usual, but Ignis could still follow. Ignis suspected that Cor had shortened his pace, lingering for Ignis’ benefit, and Ignis bit back simmering resentment.

“Might be that Dave’s gone. Knowing his schedule, he should be up on the ramparts, but he may have been called away.” Cor surged forward again, strides lengthening. He could clear the entire length of the tunnel in a matter of moments, and Ignis followed a few paces behind. “If not, Ezma never leaves.”

Ignis gave no response. Instead, he took in his surroundings, an uneasiness settling over his slumped shoulders. If being shut away within the car, standing in the open surrounded by countless strangers was akin to finding himself in another world. All his senses were overcome. The HQ stank of wet filth and stale sweat, like animals and desperation. Ignis had grown used to it over their journey, alongside the stench of unclean leather, but it had been disguised in part by the aroma of frying food. Spice and meat, something that had drawn Ignis instinctively towards the cafeteria, and it was gone.

The rainfall had spiked the air. Sweet and sharp, and many had come in to escape the poor weather. Dozens of voices rebounded and there was laughter and grumbling, curiosity and frustration. Ignis avoided the people who passed them by, slipping his visor further up his nose.

That had been the first thing he had sought. It had been strange to settle it again, having spent long weeks without it. But Ignis would not entertain the ignorance of his peers and he kept his head low as he crossed the tarmac after his father.

Far beyond the gates had immediately been closed. The watchtowers were high enough to allow even a view of the marshlands, but the hunters remained cautious, aware that circumstances could change in merely a heartbeat. It was in fact Gladio who had helped hold the creatures at bay as the gates had been raised, earning himself a nasty wound in the process. But wounds healed, and once Gladio was home Ignis had cared for him in a stoic silence – all those who passed on were not so lucky.

A wry smile crossed Ignis’ lips. _Lucky._ Lucky like the stars above that were suffocated through not fault of their own, unable to shine, and every plant that withered and died.

Together they trundled towards the stairs leading up to Ezma’s private rooms. Before Cor could speak it was Ignis who surged forward, feeling for the rail before attempting the first step, and crept his way along. It was terribly rude – it was like nothing Ignis ever would have dreamed of doing – and he no longer cared.

She sat as always overlooking her home. He could hear the creak of her chair and smell the sourness of her skin. Tilting up his head, he hoped without assurance that he unfailingly met her gaze.

“Pardon me,” he said, leaning heavily upon what basic manners were left to him. “We are looking for your son, Dave. Is he present?”

Cor thudded up after him. Prompto did not follow, lingering at the foot of the stairs. “Apologies, Ezma,” he interrupted, something newly stressed in his tone. “We never intended to intrude.”

Low and wondering, a woman’s voice gave a long and low hum. “The eldest Leonis returns, then,” Ezma murmured, and cloth shifted upon her lap. “No longer blind to his duty.”

Cor was abruptly by Ignis’ side. They stood shoulder to shoulder. “I apologize again – this is a matter of urgency, and Dave is best suited for our needs. I contacted him several hours ago and asked to meet but received no response. Is he here?”

“No longer,” she said. As always, she sounded deeply bored. “A Sleipnir has been sighted amongst the waters, not far from the tomb. The creature was domineering, and forcing dangerous beasts close to our base. Dave and a team have been dispatched to take care of it.

“Shit,” Cor grunted. “Does he need help?”

“Any and all hands are welcome,” she replied, with a soft lilt that suggested a smile. “You may wait, or follow, and aid him with your more than capable sons.”

“Then we’re going,” Cor declared, and Ignis’ heart lurched painfully. “There’s been more than enough loss. Prompto – go back and start the car.”

“Okay,” he said instantly and was gone within a heartbeat. Ignis’ head spun at the change in pace, until a heavy hand fell upon his shoulder.

“Ignis,” Cor began in that tone that Ignis loathed more than anything. Cor had never been patronizing but still came damn close. It was infuriating how he tried so hard to act reasonable while spitting in his son’s face. Ignis’ hopes curled up and died. “I need you to stay here. Prom and I will be as quick as we can, alright?”

Biting back the worst of his ugly rage, he bristled. Ignis glowered up towards him. “Are you quite serious?”

Cor’s hand slipped away, reluctant. “Ignis, it’s vital that you stay. I cannot risk Prompto alone, or spare time enough to watch over you during the battle. I’m sorry – but there is no other option.”

There was no comfort. His words were hollow and Ignis’ temper flared. “That’s bullshit,” he spat, ears turning hot with shame. _Left behind so quickly._ “I am perfectly capable.”

“I’m sorry, but I won’t have this argument with you,” Cor said, famously blunt. “You’ll stay, and that’s final.”

It knocked the wind well and truly out of his sails. _That’s final,_ Gladio had roared, aflame with rage, and Ignis had never given in to him. _That’s final_ , barely heard over the slamming of a door. Ignis’ hands fumbled aimlessly as he lit himself a cigarette, furious and desperate for release, and the moment that pierced his heart. _That’s final._

Ignis cast his eyes to the ground, blinking hard to banish angry tears, and Cor sighed.

“It’s…” he began, but no words came. Instead, he grunted. “I’m sorry. I have to go.”

“I want to follow,” Ignis tried again, in spite of losing most of his lustre. _That’s final._ “Let me join you.”

“Ignis,” Ezma interrupted, always smiling. Ignis had entirely forgotten they has an audience. “Sit with me a while. Perhaps we can share some tea.”

“Have a warm drink,” Cor told him, seizing the lifeline offered, and across the tarmac a horn blared. “Ah – listen, we’ll be back soon,” he swore, and the stairs creaked as he backed away. “Just wait for us – please?”

There was no sense in arguing. Sharp though reluctant, knowing the moment was beyond reach, Ignis nodded. Cor gave a great sigh of relief as if a heavy weight had been lifted from his struggling shoulders. “Thank you,” he said, breathless and grateful, and sprinted across the tarmac.

Shortly after the car hurried past, the gates grinding open once more, and Ignis stood stiff and useless, newly exhausted. His body sagged and his spirit was almost entirely extinguished. Only disappointment and hurt lie underneath his anger. When the gate closed once more there were few voices filling the HQ, the hunters murmuring to one another endlessly.

With a start Ignis looked deeper into the voices. They were the very young, the very old, those who limped across to their tasks or coughed and spluttered. All able bodied people were away at work, and Ignis had been left behind all those who were deemed weak.

“Ignis,” Ezma repeated. “Please, sit. To my left, if you will.”

Left numbed, Ignis groped around for the chair frame. Wood, he thought, nails scrambling. It was in good condition with a pillow set into the base. Brought from inside a home, never exposed to the elements. Perhaps once upon a time it had belonged to her sister.

It was strange to be without family again. It was a new record, he thought, sour – a few minutes of a single journey before he was abandoned all over again. His hands trembled.

Ezma noticed. Those pale eyes saw all. Ignis envied them, as often as they had made him uncertain. “Don’t fear,” she said. “A kingsman like you should never be frightened.”

Ignis gazed sightlessly towards his knees. “I feel no fear, but I think the situation is dire enough for it.”

Porcelain clattered against a table that Ignis did not realise was there. “Do you want tea?”

“No,” Ignis said, cursing himself.

“Suit yourself,” she replied, and said nothing more.

A chill ghosted along the tunnel. Harsh winds had often been suffered here, the shopkeeper had told Ignis upon their first visit all those years ago. It was enough to raise the hairs upon Ignis’ arms. It had been pleasant enough in the summer days, muggy heat sticking his shirt to his skin, perfectly soothed by the rolling winds. Rather, in this foul darkness fallen, it was sickening. His thermals were his saving grace.

Much like before, Ignis quickly lost his sense of time amongst silence. He sat with his hands upon his thighs, listening closely for any voice. Children wondered past chattering to themselves and a grandfather followed closely. Ezma slowly sipped her tea, perfectly comfortable, and a quiet sat between them that Ignis struggled to bear.

“So,” she said finally. “What brings you back into our sorry state of affairs?”

Ignis’ mouth thinned out. He hadn’t expected her questions to be worse than her judgemental silence. “Duty,” he said plainly, allowed no falter.

Laughter met his ears. It was infuriating. “Remembered it suddenly, have you?”

Ignis turned his glower to face her voice. “I had never forgotten it,” he said firmly, the muscles of his jaw pulled tight. He would not stomach judgement from a woman who knew nothing of him. “I am here to serve. That is all.”

Ezma hummed again. He could image her wry smile drawn thinly over yellowed teeth, over a tired and drawn face. Upon their first meeting, it had been unnerving how her eyes still gleamed bright, drawn within her skull. In particular Noctis had rarely been able to meet her gaze. “I see,” she replied. “I understand that the Marshal and I raised the same foolish sons.”

It was kindling to the fire. “And what is that supposed to mean, pray tell?”

“I am sure that your father would never speak to you in such a way, but I would call it obtuse,” she said, and Ignis’ hackles sharply rose. “I’m sure Cor would be polite enough to water it down as ‘resolute’.

Crossing his arms, Ignis swallowed back insult and anger – something he had been doing for much too long. Barely he clung to what remained of his control. All manners were long out of the door and any patience cast aside. The loving son of yesteryear was breathing his last laboured breath, bloodied - but still somehow reluctant to ruin the relationship between his father and one of their last living powerful allies.

“I don’t have to explain myself,” Ignis told her eventually, forcing himself to swallow his built up frustrations. “I will aid my father, seek my companion, and return to waiting for my King. Alone.”

“We’re all waiting for your King,” Ezma reminded him, leaning forward. The scent of tea billowed on her breath. “You are the only one who cowers. Why is that?”

Working the tenseness of his jaw, he surveyed her with patience he longed to retain. Ignis hadn’t cowered a minute in his life, and he could no longer work his throat around the bile. “I wait in solitude to plan for Noctis’ return. Should he return to Lucis, he would return to somewhere he feels safe and secure. We last visited Caem before our departure. Ergo, Caem.”

“And how has that worked for you thus far?”

Ignis’ nostrils flared wide. He turned away from her interrogation, arms folding against his chest.

Even if she took his silence as a victory, nothing more than the sulking of a child, Ignis had nothing further to say to her. He would wait until his father returned to him, no matter how long it took.

“Obtuse,” she said slyly. “Just like David.”

Abruptly his ears picked up. It doused the rage a moment. The children nearby

children had departed, their laughter further north of Ezma’s hut, and hunters called warnings as the gates ground once again. A car drifted by and past, all the way to the opposite gates and disappearing back into the wilderness once more, and Ignis exhaled softly.

Ezma continued as if nothing had changed. “That boy of mine may seem demure to any stranger outside of the hunters. But he’s expectant, and impatient to succeed me. Still he cannot understand why I have denied him my position for near a decade when my own body is frail. My son thinks of his wants and needs, and the needs of the hunters – but rarely of what he needs to do to obtain leadership.”

Ignis gave her voice a hard look. “I think your son is very noble.”

“Noble indeed,” she agreed, without a hint of pride. “And yet he follows. He does not lead. Not once has he disagreed with myself – all too willing to follow the will of another, and he does not think to inspire and guide. He is too comfortable getting his hands dirty, and too lost in the dream of being one of them.”

Ignis’ brows furrowed deeply. “There is nothing wrong with preferring to follow.”

With a coy laugh she leaned forward again, into him. The scent of her skin was dusty and stale. Cheap tea filled the air. “But not if you one day expect to lead. You cannot shirk your duty – as the leader of the hunters, the leader of Lucis, or yourself, once expecting to be the leader of his armies. You cannot call yourself a leader whilst leaving all decisions to those you are duty bound to protect.”

Understanding, and unhappy to see it, he sharply stood. His chair screeched behind him. “I will no longer hear this,” he grit, each muscle tense. “I will not hear such disrespect.”

“Is it disrespect to question the weakness of authority?”

“Noctis – His Majesty will return,” Ignis informed her, tersely, nails cutting into the soft flesh of his palms. “And then we shall be guided into the light of the dawn.”

Ignis remembered her smile as she first watched them approach. Eyes like winter, her clothes somehow spotless in the mess of the tunnel. He and Gladio had exchanged a look as Noctis swept forward – Ignis curious, and his Shield doubtful. He knew she smiled at him again – knowing, and absolute.

“Do let me know when the time finally comes,” Ezma said, and without another word Ignis stomped down the stairs, hating how he stumbled on the lowest step.

“While you have no deigned to ask, I have not seen your man,” she called after him, voice strong, unquestionable. “And I do not think you will see him for some time yet.”

 _What would you know of Gladio,_ Ignis considered casting over his shoulder, out of spite and distaste – but instead stormed forth, hoping the seats of the cafeteria remained lined by the road, and refused to look her way once more.

-X-

It felt like another aching eternity until the slow march of returning hunters descended upon the camp.

Ignis sat sullen and alone where he had once feasted with his energetic companions. They had eaten club sandwiches on the house, everyone having heard of the king’s men who had saved their second in command, and Ignis had found the spiced chicken delicious and the greens lifeless. Gladio and Prompto refused to judge and devoured them in mere bites, immediately scavenging what barely passed for lettuce and tomato pried out of Noctis’ sandwich. The day was so pleasant that Ignis hadn’t breathed a word about it. Instead he sipped his soda and laughed at the mayonnaise in the corner of Prompto’s mouth, making notes of his meal and quite content to relax.

Happier days. Ignorant days. It was tough to equate those memories with his newfound loneliness, the sharp edge of his grief. His seat wobbled beneath his weight and his fingers found thick masking tape holding a leg together.

Finally, a hunter called out across the headquarters. “Team A inbound,” she called and Ignis looked up, curious enough to be pulled from his rumination. Mere moments later the gate ground once more, no doubt a horror to whomever attempted sleeping in the barracks close at hand, and Ignis caught the smoother engine of Cor’s car - one amongst many, leading the charge. _There_ , he thought, and he stood impatiently, venturing closer to the road.

“Hey, mister,” a child said, voice emerging at his right. “Careful!”

Ignis shook him away. The cars were far more cautious, tucking into the sides of the roads one by one. Doors began to slam with shouts for medical attention, antidotes, loved ones. Dave’s voice was chief amongst them. “Stick with Prompto if you need medical attention,” he yelled over the sudden roar of noise. “And change shifts for the wall once you’re cleaned up! Quickly!”

With a quick gait Ignis followed his voice.

Hunters bustled by, some stinking to the highest heavens and others limping and whimpering. Sleipnirs were wickedly fast – faster whilst they thrived in the endless dark, bearing sharp horns and powerful hooves. Ignis did not envy the hunt, and yet seethed still.

“Dave,” he called, and a man appeared at his right, a prickling presence. Ignis smelt sweat and the faintest touch of spices.

Before Ignis could adapt to his uncertainty, Cor cut across. “We’re all fine,” he said reassuringly. “No fatalities.”

“Yet,” Dave said darkly from in front, and Ignis could hear his the drag of his weariness. “Ignis – it’s good to see you.”

Ignis nodded politely and stuck out his hand. Right away a tough palm met his, firmly shaking as if Ignis wasn’t the fragile thing Cor had been lead to believe. “How goes the hunt?”

“Better than I hoped, though we had a struggle with some serpents on top of all of that. Survived - thanks to your old man and kid brother, o’ course.”

“Don’t let Prom hear you say that,” Cor mumbled with miniscule humour. “Listen, Dave - we came to ask questions, and a favour.”

“Anything for your family,” Dave swore without hesitation. It was refreshing to hear anything other than reluctance. “Guess it’s about the Amicitia kid? Noticed he weren’t with you.”

“Have you seen him?” Ignis asked pointedly. “I understand that he’s not been seen for quite some time now.”

“Not recently,” Dave sighed, touched with regret. “I don’t know about my ma, or any o’ my hunters. I feel like they would have said something, that being said – Gladio used to be around here all the time, and just stopped coming, all sudden like.”

“Fuck,” Cor grunted, far more terse than usual. Adrenaline no doubt still fuelled him. “I’m sorry that I keep hassling you with this, but-”

“Hey, it’s no problem. We’ve gotta keep each other safe, and this is my job – keeping track of all our guys.” Dave crackled his scarred knuckles one by one. Each popped tremendously loud. “I swear I’ll keep an eye out for him, and if I hear even a whisper o’ him, y’all be the first to know. I’m just sorry I can’t be more helpful. Can I get you guys a room to rest, at least? A drink?”

Cor nudged Ignis’ arm. “Prom and I ate earlier, but-”

Even if he were starving, Ignis knew he wouldn’t be able to stomach a thing. There was a disconnect between his body and his mind, wants and needs cast aside. “I’m fine,” he said dismissively. “Can I ask you some questions before we depart?”

“Yeah, of course. Should we take a seat?”

Together they wandered back over to where Ignis had sat alone. Soil once again became splitting tarmac and Cor grabbed his forearm to guide him. Immediately Ignis shrugged him loose, insisting, “I can still walk.”

Cor’s hand fell away. “Sorry,” he said, appropriately chagrined.

They shared one small table. Ignis’ new chair was steady this time. Someone drummed anxious fingers against the wood, and another cleared their throat hard. “Last time I saw the Amicitia kid was in Hammerhead, with your youngest. I was visiting Cindy and her crew about some junkers that could be used for scraps while I was in the area. Gladio and Prompto were trying to investigate the recent sandstorms that had been picking up recently – I could barely see a damn thing getting out there. It was a hazard. Needed dealing with.”

The drumming paused. “The elemental,” Cor recalled. “That was almost a month ago.”

“That’s the one. We cleaned up real nice – and everything seemed alright. I know there, uh… had been a split in the ranks, as it were, and the kids were quiet and tired. But took ‘em to Takka’s and they had a damn healthy appetite.” Dave scratched at his stubble. “From what you said, sounds like that was only a week or so before he disappeared.”

“Yeah, Prom and Gladio headed up towards Keycatrich after that. Split up there. Prom took a hunt, and Gladio told him he had, uh, ‘business elsewhere’. Haven’t seen him since. We can track him out of Duscae but we lose him from there.” Cor sounded very deep in thought. He always had a pinched, stressed look about him. Ignis surely mustn’t have helped. “No special jobs from the hunters? No weirder activity from the beasts out west?”

“Nope,” Dave popped. “Past the elemental at least. Shit’s been surprisingly quiet since then, apart from the Sleipnir.”

Ignis shuffled forwards, hands clasped over the table. It was nothing unreasonable – Gladio often moved in small groups or even alone between jobs, though the later was not encouraged. He took on tougher hunts that only the most seasoned hunters were given and moved between them, hungry for action. While Lestallum had quickly become their base, the closest thing they each had to home with apartments there specially held for the remnants of the Kingsglaive and Crownsguard, only Ignis, Amais, Iris and Talcott were restricted to the city. Others rest their head wherever was dry and warm, and paid for the safety with increasingly dangerous services.

It was Ignis’ curse to remain. With the children, with the homemakers, with the old and the sick. To his stunned surprise he was considered lesser than even the children - Iris worked over at the Lestallum stalls and Talcott ran messages and deliveries from building to building to help with the cause. Both earned a modest wage. And three years into a nightmare Ignis was permitted to walk the markets and purchase their food – and never alone, in case of opportunistic thieves or confusion amongst the messy, busy city streets. He kept his homemaking father company and waited for the day that someone he loved would not come home, a death that perhaps Ignis could have prevented.

Three years – three godsdamn years, and Ignis could not bear the way he was delicately handled, how he counted the familiar footsteps as they grew closer down the hall and waited for dinner to be made. Ignis would rather be alone and self-serving – and seized his chance as his father stepped out to assist a neighbour in buying their shopping, unwilling to risk spreading their chest infection to anyone else.

Some scrap of guilt remained as he bartered his way out of the city, avoiding the main hub where the guards slept on shift, finding a rare man who knew nothing of the kingsmen and Ignis’ plight. It was laughably easy to escape and Ignis was gone damn near without a trace.

It was as unlike him as it was unlike Gladio to flee. A flight of fancy, a moment of madness, and now Gladio had followed in his deluded footsteps.

“Apologies for my arrogance,” he began, haltingly. “Is it at all possible that he may have come looking for me?”

Dave coughed, and cleared his throat. No-one spoke a while and Ignis looked expectantly towards Cor. Nothing was said and Ignis’ nostrils flared. “No chance, then. Don’t spare my feelings.”

“We’ve believed that you were in Caem since several days after your… departure, and before Gladio’s,” Cor admitted. “After you left Gladio was in a state of anxiety, and the first to suggest Caem, but nearer the end… he barely spoke of you, to be honest. Then he left for the elemental, and here we are.”

It was typical Gladio, Ignis thought. A man who always knew Ignis inside and out, his hungry heart and most selfish desires. His instincts, his bitterness, and yet tried so hard to keep him caged. A man so used to all his might that he could not console his loved ones the way he needed and stumbled at each hurdle. So he pushed it aside, impressing with his mettle rather than reaching out with his heart, and pushing himself surely towards his doom. Surely he must have been aching, but Ignis found it hard to scrounge up the sympathy. There were too many raging fights. Men of their ilk were stubborn and sat set within their ways, and Ignis could no longer spend many more years entrenched in bitterness.

“Is it simply that he’s ventured off alone? Perhaps he has kept his head down after an injury, or he’s feeling poorly, and will return to us soon.” Ignis suggested.

Cor laughed, barely managing to scrape wit together. “Have we ever known Gladio to take any kind of rest these past few years? I think he took a leaf from your book.”

Ignis brushed it away. _Don’t think about that,_ he decided, and tucked it away for the nights he could not sleep. “No sign of him? At all?”

“As far as I’m aware,” Dave said apologetically. “Thought I think you should keep asking around. Man his size is hard to miss.”

Sitting back again, Ignis tuned out the rest of the conversation. Their voices became nothing more than a low roar, like a tide, as endless and repetitive as the ocean against the cliffs. Ignis thoughtlessly began to chew at his nails.

Perhaps, Ignis dared to imagine, he knew nothing of Gladio at all. All those years of friendship, and the once enduring moments of their love, and it could have been meaningless. But so much had changed and no man could stay the same. There was no guarantee that the world would ever be the same in turn – Noctis may have been their chosen king, but he could not breathe life into what lay cold, untended. Trauma changed the foundation of life, and it changed Ignis for the worst.

He could only hope, against everything, that they had not lost Gladio too.

It would have been easy to lose himself in kinder memories. That was what had kept him standing while he staggered through Zegnautus Keep, hand in hand with the man he loved, and slept alone in the back of rumbling vans, refugees and hunters alike surrounding him. Sometimes he started awake from hazy dreams, imagining ghostly touches to his bare ankle, whiskey kisses upon his lips. A laugh nearly bubbled from his mouth each time, genuinely happy, but it dissipated in the endless dark.

Despite everything he yearned for those touched still. A tension drew insufferably taut between them, stress and trauma making monsters of men, but Gladio’s affection was absolute. At least until Ignis became too bitter, overly sensitive, and Gladio could not cope with all he had lost. His Shield was flawless, strong, and all he swore to protect still lay in ruins.

Ignis pitied him. He supposed it made sense why he fled – but fleeing his loved ones was counterintuitive at best, cruel at worst.

The irony sat heavy in his stomach, ignored.

“Guess we’ll have to start there,” Cor said, heaving a great sigh, carrying the weight of the world upon his shoulders. Ignis rubbed at his own eyes, already tired beyond words from such a suddenly busy schedule. He pinched the bridge of his nose tight to stave off a headache. “I’m loathe to take up any resources from you, so please don’t concern yourself with search parties, but if you could get your hunters to keep an eye out-”

“Of course,” Dave swore and the two of them stood together. Ignis hurriedly followed, hating to be caught off guard. He heard the two of them clasp their hands together. “Best of luck. You’ll be first to know if any of us see him.”

“Tread safely, and always in the light,” Cor warned, and Dave shuffled away.

To their chagrin it left them no wiser than before. Cor’s breathing was deep but uneven and Ignis stood, once again sullen. “I suppose it’s to be a tour of Lucis, then.”

“Nothing you’ve not done before,” Cor replied, but still grunted as he smoothed his hand down his face, scrubbing at his cheeks. “We’ve hit all the HQ’s now, and when she has the time, Monica is out on her bike looking. The dragoon is at Hammerhead still but coasting around on her ship occasionally. And still nothing.”

Ignis didn’t respond. There was nothing to add, even if the involvement of Aranea was illuminating, and Cor continued. “Let’s just grab Prompto and go.”

“Where is he?”

“Helping with the wounded,” Cor said and Ignis could hear a new, more genuine smile. “Dustin and I have been training him up on first aid, and he’s pretty eager to prove himself as always.”

Ignis’ brows furrowed. “But he’s so squeamish.”

“He’s gotten a little better,” Cor explained, and lightly touched his elbow, guiding him forward. Ignis matched his stride, listening for their surroundings. The HQ was so much louder, suddenly bustling and teeming with life. Above them Ezma watched them all. Ignis could feel her gaze sweeping across her territory. There was no spot safe from her knowing eyes. “He’s not so hot with stitches, but we all have to start somewhere.”

That was Prompto, he knew, always eager to please. Such small hands for such an anxious man could line up a surprisingly steady shot and fiddle with the tiniest screws and wires to give old tech new life again. Ignis thought his confidence had bloomed within their foul new world and part of him had been right. New direction distracted a hyperactive mind even while that mind could so often be lost to despair.

Together they moved forward, searching for Prompto. It was an unfamiliar feeling to walk forward into nothingness outside of Caem. Ignis had not visited Meldacio since –

 _Since_. It was too dangerous, they said, the swamplands crawling with all sorts of nasty creatures. The roads were too winding and slippery in rainfall. Ignis had even taken the long way around himself once seeking refuge, looking to avoid alerting anyone to his movements. From Cor he had learned of the walls they built – that Gladio had often helped build - and Ezma’s staunch refusal to let her son step forward to guide the hunters through an increasingly turbulent new world. No doubt the place was horribly cluttered, set up with stacks of boxes and pallets the same way Prompto had told him Hammerhead had been, half a dozen bodies crammed into a single home.

Ignis’ ears told him plenty. It was all he needed to know. There were few children next to the sheer number of adults, and Ignis was sure they would be gone as soon as Ezma could call for enough cars to get them out and into somewhere brighter and safer. Grandchildren of hunters still displaced from the deployment or loss of their parents. Nearly every voice surrounding him was young and unfamiliar, overwhelmingly citizens of the smaller settlements. Ignis caught the accents of very few city folks amongst their midst.

With a gentle touch that slid along his forearm, Cor indicated that Ignis should turn left. Ignis followed until a new flurry of voices dawned, growing closer and no less frantic. The slick mud turned into gravel and then uneven concrete, hurriedly laid. Ignis’ hand met solid wood.

“They’ve built a little doctors office,” Cor explained. “It’s modest, and… there’s no doctor, but they make do with basic first aid, and magic when we’re around.”

Ignis turned his head, incredulous. “No doctor?”

“They died,” Cor said, and that was explanation enough.

Ignis’ hand found a window, a doorknob, and hesitated. Another body – especially his own - would not be welcome, he was sure, but his healing had once been considered unparalleled.

Cor noticed. “I’m sure they’ll be more than happy for your help.”

Ignis stood fast, reluctant to be turned away. So many knew of him and thought he was worth little. “Unless they require a healer, and don’t think me useless, I will remain.”

A barely audible huff of air was his own response, but Cor rapped on the door with the back of his knuckles. “Any help needed here,” he asked, calling within and counting on them to know his voice. Everyone knew of the Marshal.

A flurry of activity met his ears. There was a clatter and a curse before the door was yanked open . The clinical scent of disinfectant merged with a tang of desperate blood and the foul stench of poison met his nose. “Hands are always welcome,” a man said. Prompto’s steady voice came from deep within, almost indistinguishable.

“My son is a healer. He can use the king’s magic, if necessary.”

“Grand,” the man said, overwhelmed with relief for a moment, but then paused. Ignis could feel the frown falling over his expression. “But is he not-”

“More than capable,” Cor swiftly interrupted. “Ignis, can you follow-”

“Take me to anyone who is suffering from a lack of traditional curatives,” Ignis ordered.

The man moved aside without another word. Cor entered first and Ignis closely followed, trusting Cor to take the safest path. But soon enough a shoulder slammed into Ignis’ on passing, and he kept his feet only by the last minute sound of their approach and his hand braced against the wall.

Ignis grunted, and Cor snarled to the stranger, “Watch it!”

They wound inside the building, following Prompto’s voice. There were even fewer people inside that he thought, and Cor guided him through a minefield of boxes and beds. Ignis caught whimpers of pain, pleas for mercy.

“Venom,” Cor said suddenly said, stopping at the last minute beside a bed. “You can help this one.”

Someone’s breath quaked. “Please,” a young woman said, far younger than Ignis would have expected. Barely old enough to fight. Too young to lose the embrace of the sun. “Please, I’m – I’m burning up, please-”

“Give me your hand,” Ignis murmured, as gently as he could, and found her hot palm. He cupped it in his own. “Don’t be afraid.”

She was panting hard. Still she trembled and Cor’s hands were cool beside Ignis’ as the rest just north of her wrist. “Here,” he said, carefully. “She’s been bitten on her bicep.”

“You’ll be alright,” Ignis told her, and slid his hand up and along to find Cor’s hands. Her sleeves were cut open and skin boiling, already swollen to the touch. Blood and venom slicked her skin.

Beneath his hands she hiccupped. “Please,” she said again, voice thick with tears, and Ignis breathed deeply and reached for his stifled magic.

Summoning his borrowed power was no longer as easy as it had been. Once it had been cooling to the touch, pleasantly numbing and filled with adrenaline, and now it was pure ice. Like needles, piercing and cold. It spoke volumes of the state of the bond with their king. Ignis was loathe to admit it but Noctis was far out of their reach. The Crystal held dominion over his power, calling home it’s most honoured servant, and it had sharply reminded Ignis that at their core, the Caelums were mere mortals. Such power was borrowed. Ignis lived by loan, on extension.

It only served to make him angrier. And the girl could feel it, sniffling and writhing, fighting to pull away even as weakness claimed her. Ignis bit back on his wrath, his shame, and poured his power, directing it – encouraging it.

Back at the Citadel they had called him a master. Ignis tamed the elements and held dominion over supportive magics like no other. But often it went where it will, struggling against Ignis’ guidance.

“You’ll be alright,” he promised, focusing on his patient. It was all he could do in the moment to soothe the wild energy of his power, and he sealed his hands over her wound.

For a moment she thrashed to get away, hissing suddenly. Scalding venom and the chilly touch of magic combined was unenviable. Ignis had done this before, cupping his hands over a thick and tattooed forearm, and had earned himself a kiss for his troubles.

It would not do to become distracted. He doubled down, pouring his energy forward, and he could feel the change occur in her body.

By the time he removed his hands, the swelling had gone down. An ebbing heat still met his palm but would pass with time. The girl was breathing harshly but the world around them was quiet. “There you go,” Ignis said softly. “The poison is gone. Soreness will remain but you will be alright in a few hours. Your puncture wounds will knit soon enough.”

Through her heavy breathing she could not manage words. Ignis felt Cor touch his elbow, and he turned his head. “There’s more along the way.”

For such a wide party of hunters this beast must have been famed. Antidotes were hard to come by these days – only if, of course, one carried too much fear or pride to venture out in secret and speak with Kimya – and Ignis worked through those who suffered most, curing each of them without a word. It was simple enough work, even if continuous use made him easily weary, the outpouring of energy sapping what remained of his strength. Poison was a simple enough thing if one acted fast enough – any slower, or if Ignis was absent entirely, they would have lost many.

Not useless after all, he thought, a flicker of pride embracing his once hollow chest.

Cor left him for a very brief moment. “Prom,” he murmured, angled away from his eldest. “Ignis is healing the pain. Does your patient need any more help?”

“Should have said before,” Prompto replied vaguely, the way he did when almost entirely fixated. “Would have made my job a hell of a lot easier.”

An old chair creaked. “Like… magic?” Prompto’s patient asked, a man’s laboured voice.

“My son can help with your head wound,” Cor explained, newly blessed with almost boundless patience for those bedbound. “Your arm will heal with time, helped along.”

long absent.

-

“I don’t want magic,” he said, with the distaste of one who didn’t understand what he was speaking of. “We banished that witch for a reason.”

“My son is no witch. It’ll help,” Cor replied, when Ignis said nothing. “No chance of infection, no scarring. It’s quicker and easier.”

The hunter laughed uproariously. “You think I care about scars? I bet I have more than you three put together. Guaranteed.”

Such a claim was laughable. For as long as Ignis could remember, Cor’s arm had been gone below his shoulder. One was a mess of scars and burns, ruining the detailed tattoos that curved all along his firm muscle, and the other was formed of plastic with a light coating of metal for protection. Ignis had never minded the cool pressure against his skin. As a child he had loved his father all the same. Prompto had thought it was awesome.

Ignis opened his mouth to speak, but Cor got there first. “You want an infection, then?” He shot back. “There’s little resource available for the usual treatment right now. It’s healing or nothing. And nothing will get you nowhere fast.”

“Think I’d rather take nothing,” he sneered, baring his teeth. “This kid has it right – stitching me up so I can heal the natural way. King’s magic is pro’ly what got us in this damn mess in the first place-”

Immediately Ignis bristled. The insult prickled his skin, and an insult came to his tongue unbidden, but Prompto got there first.

“I really think it would help you,” he said, very gently and kindlier than Ignis would have been. “I’ve had healing before – countless times. And I don’t carry the scars and barely suffered the pain. Better healing with magic, than all the aches and pains that might follow you for the rest of your life.”

Ignis could hear the raised eyebrows. “I know for certain a pretty boy like you doesn’t see much battle. Even if you’re the Marshal’s kid.”

Cor’s energy was newly electrifying. It crackled, threatening to bring the world down around them and Ignis would have happily helped, but Prompto continued, suddenly ice cold. “I can show you the scars I got when I was a POW in Niflheim, if you like.”

The mood soured abruptly. Ignis’ stomach churned so violently it was audible. Bile rose to the back of his throat and the man was silent – gaping, Ignis hoped, to be faced with so harsh a truth.

“It was too late to heal all of those wounds easily,” Prompto said, almost conversationally if it wasn’t for the undercurrent of ice. “I lived, obviously. But I nearly got an infection from the deep gashes in my back. And the bruises on my wrists were black for days.”

“Ah,” the hunter said, and Prompto laughed.

“Gotta keep our hunters looking real pretty,” Prompto said with fake lightness. “So I’d take the healing before it’s too late, if I were you.”

An awful, unbearable silence felt like it stretched on forever. A wave of nausea that resided in Ignis’ throat and clung to his teeth would not budge and Cor was a wall of ice by his side.

“I don’t like magic,” the hunter insisted with a faint stammer, as if his opinion bore any weight. “Just clean it up and send me on my way.”

“Are you listening?” Prompto asked, and a pair of scissors snipped in the silence. “We don’t have the resources to spare. Healing or nothing, buddy. Make your choice and get out – I’m sure someone else who needs attention and might be a little more grateful for it can use the bed.”

“Nothing, then,” the hunter snapped back, seizing his anger to save face from the awkwardness of his assumptions. “It won’t fucking kill me.”

“Great,” Prompto replied, heavy laden with sarcasm. “Next time you get clawed up by something nasty we’ll see what you go for.” Something metal clattered onto a tray. “You’re done here.”

“Yeah, yeah. Asshole,” the hunter grunted as he swung out of bed and shoved violently between Ignis and Cor. Ignis almost fell against the tray with the force, hand splaying out against unrecognisable tools, but the shame hurt worse than any cut.

Cor was immediately upon him. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Ignis insisted and grunted. Something had sliced his palm but left a tiny, shallow cut. When he rubbed it with his finger it barely bled. “Was that sterile?”

“Yeah,” Cor said, looking toward the direction the hunter had stormed. No doubt he was dreaming of giving chase and tearing him limb from limb. Ignis anticipated that he had instead memorised his face, planning for the worst once they were less busy. “I’ll let them know it needs to be cleaned again. Most of it Prom’s used anyway.”

Ignis dusted himself off, largely out of habit. “Is that all?” He asked, a little stiffer than he intended. “Are there more patients?”

“None that need our help,” Cor said, and turned his head. “Prom, are you-”

“I’m fine,” he said, lacklustre. He gathered his things noisily and zipped up his jacket. “I’m ready to go.”

“Alright,” Cor said, very softly, always patient with his youngest. “Are you hungry? Tired?”

“No,” he replied, rolling his shoulders. “Just wanna go find Gladio.”

“Sure thing, champ,” Cor said just as gently and even as hunger began to gnaw at Ignis’ belly, he didn’t breathe a word. There was a need gently tugging at his consciousness, but after remembering Zegnautus -

Thinking of Prompto’s hot, feverish skin, the way he trembled, and the sticky blood against Ignis’ trembling fingers, there wasn’t a scrap of appetite to be found.

-X-

Since they had left him so unceremoniously, Cor seemed eager to not make the same mistake again, but Ignis seized the first opportunity presented to him.

“Are you sure,” Cor asked up to three times, testing Ignis’ no longer generous patience. “Perhaps it’s safer to-”

“Need I remind you where we are?” Ignis replied, tired of such talk. These past few years he had been coddled worse than when he was a squalling child with a skinned knee. “Surrounded by hunters within iron walls, with the Marshal himself just across the road. I am no child. I will be fine.”

It took much too long, but finally Cor was banished, and ambled with Prompto towards the resource building. No doubt he cast worried looks over his shoulder. Ignis waited instead inside the car, taking the backseat again to avoid ruffling any of his brother’s already disturbed feathers, and said a quick thanks to Cindy’s crew for uninstalling thick, tinted windows.

Fishing his phone out of his jacket pocket, he cleared his throat. “Call Gladiolus,” he said as clearly as he could, refusing to let his voice waver.

‘Calling Gladiolus,” Kweh’s sweet, automated voice replied, and after a moment of silence, it began to dial. Ignis’ breath resided firmly in his throat, unable to be freed as the moments passed. He scrubbed hard at his eyes, sighing, waiting in torture.

Disappointment overwhelmed him even as the phoned continued to ring. Gladio always answered within the first three dials, even if the call had just woke him up. It was a habit ingrained within him from the moment the importance of his role as Shield had been firmly pressed upon him. If no response came, he was incapacitated –

Or ignoring the caller.

Still Ignis let it ring out, filled with contempt for none but himself. It was naïve or even arrogant to think that Gladio might answer his call while ignoring Prompto’s and the Marshal. But Ignis waited until the very last, possessed by some flightless hope.

The ringing stopped and there was an inhale of breath.

“Hey,” Gladio said and it hurt far more than Ignis anticipated. An easy rumble had soothed him throughout the hardest nights. Now it stung. “Unavailable right now. I’ll try to call you back. If it’s about a hunt, you can call Prompto Argentum on-”

Ignis cut the line. He held the phone tight enough to make his fist ache, plastic threatening to crack under the pressure. “Godsdamn it,” he said. “I’ll wring his neck.”

Inside the car it was quiet. Insufferably so. The air was stale and headache inducing, dry and dusty. Ignis scowled at nothing, feeling the fool.

Of course he wouldn’t pick up. That would have been too easy. The nagging thought remained that perhaps his phone was lost or broken, trodden underfoot into the muck beyond the safety of the city. Perhaps he was fighting. Perhaps he even was long dead.

Such a thing didn’t bear thinking about. Grief was too complicated right now. Instead Ignis gathered and shaped his rage, focusing it toward a potential Gladio within his minds eye, galivanting around Lucis while those who loved him fret and searched for days. It might have not been fair, but Ignis had been long sick of being a fair man in an unfair world, and tired of being hollow.

He rest his head against his seat and closed his eyes. He breathed deeply and prayed for even a moment of rest. It had been so long since he had slept well. His body had not grown used to the ill effects of his moods – the soreness of his muscles, the burn of his exhausted eyes after a long night without sleep. The irritability of his dark moods, and even while exhausted, while pushed to his very limit, a restful sleep was beyond him.

Cor did not leave him for long. It was scarcely any time at all before footsteps crushed the gravel and the car door was pulled open on the drivers’ side. Cor sniffed, squeezing a bag through the gap to sit beside Ignis. “Got a couple days’ worth of supplies,” he said. “Gimmie a sec.”

He disappeared again, trundling around the car, and thankfully leaving his door open. It relieved the worst of the car’s stench, soothing a migraine before it came. Ignis slipped his phone back into his pocket before anyone could see and wonder.

The boot opened and more bags were dropped inside. Cans thudded together noisily. Combined with Ignis’ stock it should be enough to last three men a week. Less, if they found Gladio – but that would be their journey over, and Madhuri would be back on Ignis’ doorstep soon enough to replenish his dwindling stock.

It slammed shut. Both men circled around and took their usual seats. Prompto shoved another bag on his seat down by his feet. Their breathing came out of unison and they clicked their seatbelts in silently. Ignis followed suit to avoid a fight.

“Everyone good?” Cor asked, and received no response. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he murmured, and brought the engine to life. “We’ll be heading out to old Lestallum. We’re gonna look around and refuel, eat and take turns sleeping. Just in case Gladio hits town while we’re resting.”

Ignis leaned his head against the cool glass without a response. The buzzing of the engine was close to soothing. Sighing, he closed his eyes, and the car pulled away and into the road.

Prompto entertained himself in silence. As hunters called orders and their goodbyes, the metal gates screeching and shifts changing hands, he began to mess with his gun. There were familiar clicks and snaps, Prompto checking his ammo and reloading in case of a roadside emergency. Ignis’ fingers could almost feel again, the magic wearing off. They felt characteristically strange, shaking off the lingering numbness.

Old Lestallum was not far but still a risky journey. Every unnecessary journey was discouraged by hunters, and civilians were banned from migrating settlements without taking hunters as guards. Of course, many still made foolish journeys alone and their spilled blood nourished Eos. Hunters could move freely for patrols, but needless battle was discouraged. There was no such thing as thinning out the daemon hordes. Another would take its place in less than a minute. They had learned that soon enough.

Cor drove quickly from the moment they left the HQ. He was silent as he focused, eyes tracking the dark roads. Ignis took the time to rest his own, nerves no longer shredded by the thought of constant dark, but still tense. No one took on the darkness with confidence – at least none who remained living. Years in and walking was a fool’s errand – you drove, you ran, or you died.

It was dangerous even to move in a pack of hunters. Ignis remembered chancing a drive to Lestallum all the way from Leide in the days before disaster, desperate to reach Iris even as the sunset established itself. The Regalia was silent and anxious – not even Prompto breathed a word. Gladio flexed his fingers, ready to summon his blade at a moment’s notice, and the daemons had begun to spawn within the long grass at the side of the road.

Ignis had floored it. They barely scraped together the last of their wits to flee, desperate to spend the night within the stunning lights of the then mysterious city. And so had the drivers who took him all around Lucis, bouncing back and forth, hoping to lose his father’s tracks.

They too travelled in silence. Only Prompto’s distracted hands made even the slightest sounds, the clicking and shifting of metal, the relentlessly anxious tapping of his feet. Cor still indicated as he turned, cautious of what he could not see in the dark and hurried the distance to Old Lestallum.

They curved along one long, riverside road that Ignis could scarcely remember before his phone began to buzz in his jacket.

It was loud in the silence and Prompto’s hands paused. The leather seats creaked as he turned but said nothing, simply watching. Ignis could not make a move, hands frozen against his belly as he thought, _Gladio._

He fumbled for his jacket, sinking his hand within the pocket. Plastic buzzed against his chewed nails and he swiped eagerly at the screen.

“Gladio?” He asked, unable to swallow his hope.

There was a pause before a low, rattling breath followed. “No,” a small voice responded, and Iris hiccupped. “I guess he’s not with you then.”

Automatically his selfish heart sank. His head lowered and he wore a grimace. “Iris,” he said for the benefit those listening in. The chair creaked again, and someone exhaled harshly through his nose. “No. I’m sorry.”

“Shit,” she said, and a door closed heavily on her end of the line. “Guess I better be grateful you picked up at least. That’s something. I suppose Uncle Cor got you wrapped up in this now.”

“Yes,” he said, and shame piled heavily onto his chest. In his absence, ignoring his phone, Iris’ calls were few and far between. Cor and Amais’ reached dozens, Prompto’s a hundred, but they had each appeared as desperate as the last. Her voicemails, when Ignis had the strength and interest to listen, were raw and pleading. It seemed things hadn’t changed. “I’m travelling with them to Old Lestallum to carry out a search.”

Iris exhaled shakily. “Did Dave know anything?”

“No,” he admitted, and Iris hiccupped again. Ignis could imagine how she was before, so small and frail, clutching her phone like it was the last precious thing to remain to her. She many have been almost eighteen now, a young woman in her own right, but Ignis would always remember the sweet girl who clung to Gladio’s arm in tears, led by Noctis from the darkness.

“Okay,” she said unsteadily. “Okay.”

It had been so long since he had heard her voice last. Each of his loved ones sounded stressed and tired. He pitied her and shared her sleepless nights. “Have you not heard from him at all?”

“No,” she shot back indignantly, like such a question was ridiculous. Ignis supposed that it was and hung his head. “No, he hasn’t called, texted, wrote – not anything. It’s been weeks.

“No one has heard from him at all? Truly?”

“No,” she said again, voice reaching a higher pitch. “No one at all. He’s just disappeared.”

“I understand,” Ignis replied as calmly as possible. It was easier said than done. “Please rest assured, Iris, we are working carefully and quickly. Please don’t fret. We will find your brother, alright?”

Iris blustered for a moment longer but could not hold onto her frustrations for long. “Okay. Okay,” she said again, and cleared her throat, regaining her composure as best she could. “Call – call me as soon as you hear anything, okay? Right away.”

“Of course,” Ignis responded. “Cor is driving. But would you like to speak with Prompto?”

“That’s okay,” She sighed, calm again but never quite settled. Ignis pitied her, lost without family. They had always been her guiding light. “Are… are you alright? It’s been so long.”

“Yes, thank you. I’m fine.”

She hesitated, but boldly pressed forward. Amicitia courage, he knew. “You left.”

“Yes,” Ignis said, cautious but refusing to show his reluctance.

On the other end of the line something creaked. Her apartment shared with Talcott was a loud and dusty place, splinters a frequent danger. Still she never complained. Never wept over her lost privileges. “Why,” she said softly, quietly. “Did Gladio join you?”

Ignis took the out eagerly. “No, I haven’t heard even a word from him. I attempted to call a short while ago, to no response.”

If Cor or Prompto’s ears picked up at that they said nothing. Their speed did not slow or hasten for even a moment. Ignis heard nothing beyond their windows – nothing but the wailing winds. But Iris hissed in his ear. “He’s not answering to anyone. Not even me.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, half genuine, half placating. “I am sure Cor will contact you soon. You will be the first to know any updates.”

“Okay,” she murmured, _okay_ , and her voice cracked. Ignis knew the tears would come soon. His throat began to close in sympathy and strain, sore from endless stress. “Can – can you call me if you find him? I want to hear it from you.”

Ignis’ lips pursed. He cast his eyes to one side, brows sinking but said, “Yes. I will.”

The tears came in a neat, restrained manner. Befitting of a lady, her father always told her, but Gladio never dared police her grief. She wept in his arms after Jared passed, face blotchy and tears streaming. He kissed her forehead and stroked her hair. _It’s gonna be okay_ , he promised _, I’m here. It’s okay. You’re okay._

Ignis sat uselessly all the while, and still did. Any words that came to him felt cloying, patronizing. So he remained quiet, listening like a voyeur, helpless to her grief and hating himself. There was ice between them, cast over his head and heart, enough for his blood to run cold.

“Please find him for me,” Iris sobbed, muffled through a hand. She sniffled and cried down the line. “Please – please, I can’t lose him too. Please, Iggy.”

Guilt and shame were a terrible thing. The car closed in around him, pulling tighter, air growing stifling. “I will,” he said. “Soon.”

“Promise me,” she interrupted. “Promise me you’ll find him. I can’t be alone.”

“I will,” he said even as the words stuck in his throat, cloying against his teeth. “I promise.”

There was a rattle on the line, like the phone was changing hands, the moan of the door underneath Iris’ uneven breath. Floorboards creaked and a door closed lightly. “Iris,” a woman’s voice said. “Is that…?”

Iris’ cries erupted into something new. The sound was agonizing. She whimpered and indistinguishable noises met his ears. “May I,” Monica asked, distantly, and Iris’ grief muffled.

Someone readjusted the phone against their ear. “Hello,” Monica said, voice unruffled. “Is there news of Gladiolus?”

Leaning back his head, closing his eyes, he bit back his frustrations. Today of all days, he was not looking for a grand reunion with each of his co-workers. “Monica,” he greeted. “No, there is no news yet.”

If she was surprised to hear his voice, of all people, she didn’t show it. “Ignis,” she said coolly. “It’s good to hear your voice again.”

“And yours,” he responded cordially. “I will be updating Iris when I can. For now, we are heading to Old Lestallum to continue our search.”

“We?”

“Cor, Prompto and I.”

“Hm,” she said and Ignis knew the unhappy twist of her mouth well. “Very well. May I speak to your father?”

“He’s driving,” Ignis told her, and Cor’s eyes were surely upon him now if not already. “May I pass along a message?”

“It can wait,” Monica replied. “I must go – Dustin has Iris in the next room, but…”

“I understand,” Ignis said, without showing his reluctance. Monica keeping secrets was not a good thought. Before there was nothing she wouldn’t share with Ignis – their trust was unshakable. Or at least it had been. “Look after her, for Gladio’s sake.”

“Be well,” she said, and sharply hung up.

Ignis released the breath he held and dropped his phone onto the opposite seat. He ran a hand over his weary face and breathed around the thickness in his throat.

“What news,” Cor asked over the ticking of the indicator.

“Nothing,” Ignis said. “Simply asking for updates.

“How were they?”

“Iris became… very emotional,” Ignis sighed, readjusting his visor. It was still cold within the car and he pulled his jacket closer, adjusting the neck of his jumper. “Monica took the phone and wanted to speak to you. Privately, I assume.”

Cor grunted. “I’ll call her once we’ve settled down. We’re nearly there.”

It was yet another handful of minutes before they arrived. All phones were silent and Prompto rolled down his window, letting a chilly but satisfying breeze roll through the car. Ignis recognised the bumpy roads of the poorly kept bridge on the approach to Old Lestallum as Cor slowed to a stop.

“Hey,” Prompto called out of the window, and his tags clicked together as he displayed them. “Three hunters. Leonis family.”

A distant laugh came from beyond the window. “It’s the old lion and his cubs,” a man shouted, and both Prompto and Ignis scoffed. That was a new nickname that had stuck, to their chagrin, and Ignis loathed it above all else. “Let ‘em in.”

Another old gate screeched as it opened. Perhaps one day they would be made less noisy, but it wasn’t particularly high on anyone list. The demons sought warmth, not sound, and the walls were tall and intimidating enough for the beasts to show no interest, guarded by at least three hunters on shift who often pulled double duty.

Ignis didn’t envy their life one bit and would still take it above all else. Better overworked than to rot away slowly, and Ignis knew Old Lestallum would be an exercise in humiliation.

The blinded Leonis cub, come back to the real world carried by his scruff, and Ignis scowled as they passed into shadow.


	3. Chapter 3

The smell of the river had grown foul in his absence, and Ignis almost gagged as he slid out of the car. Something within it was rancid, like an animal had long died embraced by the waters, and Ignis pulled the fur lining of his jacket close. It barely masked the scent.

Someone made a disgusted noise. Another coughed like they were trying to budge something from the back of their throat. “What is that,” Prompto asked, flustered for the first time.

“Astrals only know. It’s not a malboro, that’s for sure.” Cor said with a grimace. “We’d be hearing all about it otherwise. Damn sure smells like one, though.”

“Don’t even start,” a booming voice said, and solid boots thumped their way down iron grate stairs. Ignis turned his head, listening intently. It was not a voice he could place. “Been like this for a couple hours now. Still no idea what’s causing it. But hey – if you want to go check it out, be my guest.”

Cor laughed, the first to not sound painfully forced in a long while. “Only if you pay me, Andrej,” he called back with a boisterous tone, grinning all the while. **“** Otherwise, you can’t make me do shit.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” Andrej teased, and something in a heavy satchel clanged together. Ignis could smell sweat and sourness, akin to stale beer, and even that rancid scent was drowned beneath the river. “How’re you, Marshal? Still trying to herd the kids together?”

“Something like that,” Cor said, after a hesitant beat. His tone turned quickly cautious.

“Well, two of them is pretty good going,” Andrej grunted, and Ignis knew that he stared at the visor. “I’ve met Blondie. Heard all about Ignis, but never had the pleasure.”

There was something nestled within his tone. Not quite contempt, but close, and Ignis’ lips became lopsided with mirth. “And I’ve heard plenty of you,” he said. Andrej had been frequently discussed around the dinner table on the rare occasions Cor could rest his weary head at home. A hunter unparalleled, he had claimed between eager mouthfuls of dinner, someone with almost as many years’ experience as Cor himself.

This was a man Ignis could respect – if the contempt could set aside.

Ignis held out his hand expectantly. “My father holds you in high regards.”

There was a moment where nothing happened. Ignis watched the direction of Andrej’s gruff voice, waiting, and just at the point it became deeply awkward and offensive Andrej laughed. A large, calloused hand gripped his tightly. All the marks of a man looking to dominate. “At least some one does.”

Ignis gave back as good as he got, and Cor huffed at them. His father knew the signs of a forced handshake all too well. “My son is an adept healer, and an unrivalled tactical mind.”

“And you kept him locked up in Lestallum?”

A hiss of breath came from Cor, almost silent. The frustration must have been written across his taut face. “Andrej, any news from Gladio?”

Ignis’ hand was finally released. His fingers were almost numb again. “Nothing yet,” Andrej said, as if the tension had never been there. “Got my lass keeping an eye out, but even she hasn’t been able to track him down. Boy’s good.”

“He learnt from the best,” Cor said vaguely. “Listen, are there any rooms to spare in the barracks?”

“Probably not, but I’ll see if I can claim a room for you.”

“Thank you,” Cor said, with an air of relief, and their hands clapped together in thanks. “I can catch up with you soon. I need to get fed and my boys need to sleep. Will you still be here in a few hours?”

“Spending the night,” Andrej agreed, and Ignis could feel the eyes lingering on him. “Eisner decided to take a tumble and bash his head. I’m waiting to make sure he’s good and patched up, and then I’m driving him back to his kids.”

“Great,” Cor said. “Can I have a word as we walk to the barracks?”

“Well. Looks like I don’t have a choice,” Andrej replied, the lilt of his voice suggesting a smile. “Of course, Marshal. If you’re ready?”

To his children, waiting patiently, Cor gave his orders. “Go and fetch some food,” he said firmly. “Take some time to relax – and come back here to the barracks to rest, alright? We’ll sort out some space.”

“Okay,” Prompto answered faithfully as ever, and there was no time for Ignis protest before Prompto turned on his heels and ventured out into the unknown.

Ignis was left between two vastly different worlds. There were hands pulling him each and every way. Cor’s stern eyes were a compelling power but Prompto’s chill was hardly inviting. He remained, indecisive, and Andrej cleared his throat suggestively.

A burn of embarrassment overtook his cheeks. It was not a feeling he was well accustomed to. It hadn’t been so potent since his teen years – the expectant eyes of the Council as the adults would speak candidly, words not suitable for the ears of who they saw as a child, and they would expect him to slink away with his tail between his legs. They had never treated Gladiolus in such a way, but Ignis with his common blood was lesser, barely worth the cost of his clothing, and the shame still fuelled him. It pushed him to be the quickest and strongest, the smartest. Ignis had savoured proving each and every one of them wrong.

Now he stood like a child again, waiting for the right cues. Ignis refused to jump at a near stranger’s commands. “I have questions,” he announced in a voice that barely managed to hold steady.

A rumbling laugh escaped Andrej. Ignis could imagine a heavyset tank of a man, tall and wide enough to rival even Gladio. Ignis swore he could cast a deep shadow. “Father’s orders, lad,” he said, in a way that riled Ignis beyond repair. “Go and get something to eat.”

Deeply insulted Ignis bristled. Deep within his temper reared, livid. “I am no child to be sent to another room while the adults are speaking.”

Andrej’s laughter cut short and it gave Ignis no brief moment of satisfaction. But Cor grunted and gripped Ignis’ shoulder, ready to offer some platitudes, and Ignis shook his touch free effortlessly. “What will you be discussing?”

“Nothing serious,” Cor assured him in a gentle tone Ignis loathed. “Nothing that’s vital.”

As always, Ignis pressed forward. There had to be something. Monica did not hold secrets, and Cor was loathe to cut his children out. “Such as?”

“Curious little lad,” Andrej mumbled, too loud for an attempt at subtlety to be made. “Or just nosy?”

A thump hit someone’s leather clad chest, and Andrej grunted hard. Cor intervened; his voice kept low. “I’m going to ask Andrej to form a party of hunters to check the nearby havens,” he explained, always patient. “We don’t have the time to do such a deep search ourselves, so we’re hitting the major settlements. After that, I’m going to request a room at the barracks. You can follow if you like. I just didn’t want to waste your time. After that, I’ll call Monica.”

All their lives Cor had never outright lied to his children. Difficult truths were hidden away when they were just boys, with simply an assumption of long days and nights at the Citadel obscuring a dangerous mission beyond the safety of Insomnia’s walls. Cor had stepped around injuries that made him wince when Prompto cuddled him close. But Cor never outright lied. A man like Cor wasn’t built for lying to family, and it took the wind out of Ignis’ sails. By Andrej’s hum, he saw it plain as day, and Ignis backed down with what little remained of his pride.

“Will you lead these hunters?” He asked, clinging to another thread to save him. “Or will they go leaderless?”

He could hear Andrej’s crooked smile. “Sure, kid,” he said. “I’ll look for your friend.”

A muscle in Ignis’ cheek flexed hard. He averted his gaze, crossing his arms against his chest, and played hard ball. “I want to know if you find him. Right away.”

“Sure,” he said again, slower, amused, and Ignis loathed him.

“Prom’s getting away from us,” Cor said carefully, and Ignis’ shoulders slumped. He knew when he was being dismissed with disappointment.

Refusing to bow his head at the very least he stepped away swiftly. “We will find you later,” he asserted all while nursing his pride, and departed.

To be alone with Prompto had been a reassuring comfort once upon a time. He enjoyed nothing more than one on one time with his brother, the camaraderie of his smile and his willingness to touch. A hand on his shoulder meant more and more to him as the nights drew darker, their relationships strained. Their parents held them close and kissed their heads still, but the bond Ignis shared with his brother had been unique.

Had been, he thought with a long-suffering sigh, and Prompto was a ghost lost within the darkness. Ignis had come to recoil from touch, to bark complaints and bitterness, and Ignis wasn’t sure if there was any coming back in this empty world.

Uncertain Ignis walked an unknown path. On impulse he reached out his arm, seeking balance. “Prompto,” he called.

“Over here,” Prompto said, further away than Ignis anticipated. He quickened his step, almost losing himself in the sudden drop from pavement to road, and the gentle patter of rain began to once again drum against the tarmac. Ignis hadn’t even known there were clouds.

It was difficult to tell but Ignis thought he must be by Prompto’s side now. He scraped his feet against the floor, unable to tell where he stood. “Are the clouds dark?”

“Yep,” Prompto popped, directly to his left, and headed off without another word.

Pushing down his frustrations Ignis followed. He walked more carefully, struggling to recall where the road had been. The rain retained its gentle pace a while, bearing no promise of a storm. It seemed unnaturally quiet without the wind by Ignis’ side. But still the people of the settlement began to hurry, raising their voices as they bustled past. Soldiers would remain upon the gates and hunters would continue their vital work. Civilians sought shelter as quickly as they could, complaining all the while of the river.

The stench from the water grew even more foul. It was almost enough to claim his appetite. Ignis had driven across the bridge a dozen times, perhaps more, and never known it so disgusting. He pulled up his collar to inhale the clean musk, quickening his step. “How much further?”

“It’s just rain,” Prompto told him. “It’s a couple more feet. Slow down.”

Someone’s shoulder knocked Ignis’ hard. No apology came and Ignis refused to slow. “How is this diner even running still?”

“It’s not. The owners packed up for Lestallum – one of the hunters took it over when he injured himself.”

Ignis’ interest peaked. In his absence there were many left unaccounted for. “Anyone we know?”

“No,” Prompto said, and sidestepped sharply to the left. He wrenched open a door and a familiar but distorted electronic chime called out to him, an awful greeting against his ears. “Here.”

It was warm inside the kitchens, and busy. It was packed with people, only few of them hunters by the way they spoke. A tired and anxious air made his skin prickly, refusing for the moment to settle. Few people spoke and those who did discussed only their travels, the coming rain and the stench. _At least it smells better in here_ , a woman moaned. Cutlery stabbed against plates and an infant cried unendingly.

A bell rung over their heads again, clearer this time and Ignis paused. They had eaten here many times before, but it had been so long and the world had changed too much to recognise it even beneath his feet. Ignis could no longer forge its image in his mind’s eye. The uncertainty and thrum of voices were discouraging and Ignis dithered awkwardly in the doorway. His heart rate picked up; chest uncertain.

It killed him to speak. “Prompto,” he said, and his brother was still by his side in an instant.

“All the seats are taken,” he explained. “The path is on your right – there’s some kids in the way, though.”

As Prompto lead him through the cramped thoroughfare Ignis moved slowly. For the first time he half missed the reliable weight of his cane. The impulse and the action were both humiliating – he had cast it aside at his first opportunity, abandoned within the confines of Niflheim. But it bore its advantages, and his independence – people scurried to clear a path as they heard his tapping, and it was far less frustrating than colliding with errant shoulders, tripping over stray feet. Ignis once winced with each tap of his cane, a lost Prompto’s nervous explanations of the world around him, Altissian tiles slick with water. A necessary evil, he supposed. There were many of those these days.

“We can eat in the car,” Prompto said, and Ignis did not savour the thought of the awkward silence and musky scent.

Slow and steady steps remained cautious. Prompto stepped ahead to serve as shield, brushing strangers out of the way. “’cuse me,” he said, sharper than he would have in the early days.

A child complained wordlessly. Plastic wheels of a toy rattled against the floor. Ignis followed, careful of tiny hands underfoot. A parent foolishly paid no heed.

Something sizzled to his left. Ignis formed an uncertain image of the counter there, rows of tables and the wide windows. With voices he managed to place positions, ages, and he breathed a little easier. Such talents came to him with time, but within Lestallum, in the buzz of the city, he struggled under the crushing tide of newcomers and the warren-like streets.

“Hey,” Prompto said. “Can we get in on food? Got the right tokens.”

A man sniffed at him. “Lemme see.”

Prompto kept all of his tokens on a chain, clipped to his waist. They were safely tucked within his pocket and jangled as the chef hummed, thumbing through each. “Thanks for getting rid of that mesminir.”

“All in a days work,” Prompto said, faux chipper, and shoved them back into his pocket. Cor had drummed the importance of safe keeping into his head. “Whatever you got – warm’ll be good, though.”

“Rice and stew,” the man said gruffly.

“Perfect,” Prompto said. “Can we get that takeout?”

“Your friend doesn’t wanna sit?”

“I’m fine,” Ignis stepped in, brows knit. “Appreciated, though.”

“Oh,” another voice said, closer than Ignis anticipated. It came from a chair to their left, a woman gripped with surprise. “Are you – oh, I’m so sorry – please, just a moment-”

Ignis winced. This was a moment he encountered often and loathed each time. “No, really. It’s quite alright.”

Already she was scooping up her things. “We’ll be right out of your way.”

“Truly, it’s fine,” Ignis told her, voice firm and encroaching on chilly, but Prompto’s elbow sharply met his ribs. His elbow was painfully pointy, not unlike talons, and they were always missile guided to the most vulnerable points of Ignis’ body when they shared a tent.

“Thank you,” his brother said kindly. “We really appreciate that.”

“Hey, it’s all good,” her companion said, an anxious sounding woman. Everyone seemed anxious speaking to Ignis. “Enjoy your meal!”

As quickly as they had spoken, they were gone. The ugly bell chimed over their heads and Prompto hopped into their graves. “A little to your left,” he said, and Ignis reached for a cracked leather seat. It was cheap and always uncomfortable but still he sat, shamefully. Every eye in the building was upon him and his skin crawled.

“Eats in ten,” the man said as if nothing had happened, and busied himself with the tools of his new trade. Ignis prayed the eyes would lose interest soon enough.

Over the long minutes they sat many people came in but few left. Ignis knew that most didn’t come for food. Reassuring warmth and company was held in high regard. It was the greatest comfort they could each ask for. It was soothing to hear a flurry of innocent activity and to bask in the mundane of the day to day. Faint music and chatter soothed the soul. Despite how busy they were, a dozen stuck within one room, Ignis knew the barracks were dreary. Thin walls gave only a pretence of awkward privacy.

Whilst in the city, Ignis only enjoyed sitting by the open window with his tea. The flavour grew cheaper and thinner with each day but Amais worked hard to provide it for him. It was an expensive pleasure but the only that he had. All he could do was listen to his father lead the children in their art class in the courtyard of their apartment block, laughing endlessly. Life bravely marched on, closer to the end with each day.

For the moment each of them still drew breath, eager to still see tomorrow. Ignis listened as it was all he could do, basking in the scent of warm food and the innocent activities of those who waited out the long night.

Beside him Prompto was utterly silent. He barely breathed. A rustling came - picking at the paper that covered plastic straws, Ignis thought. Before he would hum and loudly fidget, nattering away about anything he could see, slipping coins in the jukeboxes. It was nigh impossible to drag him from the gambling machines. They had been the first pleasure abandoned in the new world – they took up far too much space and precious resource. Ignis missed the jaunty music most of all, he thought. All he heard these days were dismal updates from hunters.

Bur rivalling that misery was Prompto’s uncanny quiet. It was enough for crawling discomfort to fill Ignis’ chest. Ignis shifted in his seat endlessly and spoke the first thought that came to mind. “Is Andrej’s daughter an experienced hunter?”

The rustling stopped, only to resume shortly after. “No,” he replied. “She’s a vet.”

“Oh,” Ignis said, and then faltered for a heartbeat when Prompto declined to say more. “Is she safe out there?”

“She’s fine,” he said, and two glasses tapped onto the counter beside their hands. “Cup of water. Three o’clock.”

Ignis dragged his hand along the counter. The water was lukewarm but still he drank half, sating his dry mouth. “Thank you,” he remembered his manners a moment too late.

Brothers sat with a whole world spanning between them. Prompto’s nails continued to helplessly shred the paper. Ignis joined his own hands together, the noise around him becoming nagging. For the first time he wished that Cor was slot between them, their buffer. At least he could make up for Prompto’s sullen behaviour.

too much, to exist in such a temperamental world were familiar faces dipped out without a word and at a moment’s notice. Ignis’ silence was his own, and Prompto wrath was understandable.

For the first time in what felt like forever Ignis was truly cowed. Until their meal was served they did not share a word. Ignis suffered in the prison of his own mind and started when dinner was set in front of him. Cutlery rattled loosely. “Guess you’ll want extras for your father,” the cook asked.

“Ah,” Prompto was caught off guard. “Yeah, please. If you can spare it.”

“Got it,” they said, and disappeared.

It smelt incredible. Weeks of eating from a can or microwaved food at best had numbed him to the thought of real, homecooked food. When Ignis cupped the plate it was soothingly, familiarly warm. He had missed this more than he thought. It smelt spicy and intense.

Still, Ignis supposed such blame couldn’t be laid entirely upon his shoulders. It must have been all

Ignis groped for his cutlery, finding his spoon first. He settled for that. “Thank you,” he said, in the knowledge that he had no idea if the cook heard him, or even cared.

He was back in less than a minute. Ignis was caught in the midst of savouring his second mouthful. “Enough leftovers for a man as busy as the Marshal,” he said, possibly intending to tease, but forgetting to inject the playful lilt.

“Thanks,” Prompto said gratefully, spooning mouthfuls in at an incredible speed, and didn’t speak another word to his brother.

-X-

In another world Ignis guessed it would have been the late evening as the ventured back to the barracks.

If there was one thing they could each cling to, it was the pretence of binary time. Most followed a standard routine for the sake of their battered mental health. They woke when the dawn failed and went about their business as well as they could and slipped into bed as the endless sky remained pitch black, praying for a touch of light come morning. Almost all suffered sleepless nights still. Ignis had lost his sense of time whilst in Caem but knew from the new quietness of the settlement that it was probably time for sleep.

Most voices thinned out. But the world was never truly quiet – the remainder were on duty. Guards swept up and down the paths for civil disturbances, while hunters ventured through, entering and leaving at all hours. Ignis wondered if he would sleep at all tonight with the terrible grind of the gate so close by.

Their boots crushed gravel underfoot. Prompto held the box of leftovers close to his chest and his breath puffed out in a sigh. “Andrej,” he called into Ignis’ emptiness. “Where’s dad?”

“Block F,” Andrej thoughtlessly yelled from across the road. “Grabbed him a room in the end.”

“Thanks. Catch you later,” Prompto picked up his pace, leaving Ignis to hurry after him and hope that the way was clear.

There were fleeting murmurs of families to Ignis’ left. The blocks were teeming with people. A woman whispered to her weeping lover. A child asked for water. There were phrases in languages that Ignis did not understand. Another woman told a suggestive joke in Galahdan, snorting with laughter through the punchline, and Ignis could understand little. He had grown rusty with lack of practise. Ignis followed Prompto past a dozen windows to his count, until Prompto paused and tried a door.

It groaned and protested. Prompto’s boot kicked past the resistance and they slipped inside, safe from the cold and persistent light rain. A click came on, a powerful overhead glare just registering in Ignis’ vision.

From somewhere above came Cor’s low voice. “Boys?”

Out of instinct Ignis looked upwards. Cool air blessed his cheeks. A floorboard creaked high above under a man’s weight. “Room 35,” Cor called down. “I’ll take first watch tonight.”

“I brought dinner,” Prompto offered.

“Thanks, Prom,” he called down, gratitude clear, and began thumping down the stairs. “I’ll eat outside. You two rest up.”

“No, I’ll do it,” Prompto told him, allowing no argument. “I slept while you drove up to Caem.”

“Prompto-”

“Too late,” Prompto said. “Already going. Take your food and eat it before it gets cold.”

Coming down the last of the stairs, Cor gave a long-suffering sigh. “Thank you,” he said again. “Just tell me when you need to swap, and I’ll be right along.”

“Sure,” Prompto said, and each of them knew it was a bare faced lie. He always pushed his shifts as long as he could for the sake of his restless family. The two of them had always been self-sacrificial dolts. It had only grown worse, and Ignis was content in pretending that he would not have done the same. “Take Ignis up.”

_Ignis._ In Prompto’s eyes, Iggy had never been Ignis. Even during their toughest times amongst the wilds of Lucis and their moments of brutal uncertainty. His big brother was and would always be Iggy. It was sobering to face down the disconnect and Ignis swallowed around his sorrow.

As an aside Ignis was not tired yet. Despite all his distaste he allowed Cor to take his arm for the first time. “These are steep,” he explained apologetically.

Prompto slipped back out the front door as Ignis slowly and steadily made his way up. The thick soles of his boots scraped against the too tall wood. Thankfully, he did not stumble and two flights up Cor released his arm, stroking along his right arm at the last moment to indicate where he should turn.

“Food smells great,” his father said conversationally.

Only a few paces down the hall Cor stopped. He shouldered the keyless door open, explaining, “There’s no locks, but anything precious we keep in the car. Prompto will take watch there to keep it safe.”

The door thudded against the wall when it was only ajar. “It’s a squeeze,” Cor told him, but the cool fresh air within the room was wonderous. The window was pushed all the way open in case of Prompto’s calls. Ignis followed, having to pinch his shoulders together.

Against his fingertips the wall was flaking. Before Cor could speak again Ignis’ shin abruptly met a steel bedpost. He grunted with the sharp pain but felt his way along the bed, settling down. The mattress was as tough as the floor but Ignis already breathed easier. Here he was safe as one could be.

Across from him Cor settled down. He popped open the styrofoam container and the scent of food gradually filled the room. Cor breathed his own sigh of relief and Ignis worried about the last time his father ate. Cor shovelled it into his mouth like it had been days.

Alone again, with a thousand things to say, and none of the strength. To fill the silence Ignis unzipped his jacket to use as a makeshift pillow. His jumper and thermals were thick enough to protect him from the harshest nights. A loving gift from his fathers.

It was cloying to be off the road and yet in company. An itch bothered him. It agitated his skin only as long as they remained in the settlement. The urge to keep moving - keep hunting - was intense. Ignis had never been one to cope with sitting uselessly. Ignis burned to keep searching but his eyes were already heavy. His limbs were lethargic, soothed by a warm and filling meal.

Resting his head against the wall, he closed his eyes. It wasn’t comfortable in the slightest. Nothing was, including the silence.

Thoughts of his family in Lestallum came to him unbidden. He had thought of them often as his days in Cape Caem passed slowly. They were never lonely, always surrounded by strangers and loved ones alike, but no doubt hurting. Settling down for bed themselves and wondering why, thinking they were only doing what was best, and Ignis could have laughed.

“What did you and Prompto have to eat?” Cor asked, rustling around in his rucksack for his sports bottle, always filled with water.

“The same,” Ignis replied, without opening his eyes. The stew was a reassuring scent, close to the home he had left behind. Tiredness made him half woozy.

Cor paused as if hoping Ignis might continue. He received only disappointment. “Glad you could get a warm meal,” He said and took a deep drink. “What did you and Prom talk about?”

Ignis withheld his wince. “Nothing.”

“Ah,” Cor said and this time his disappointment was as clear as day. “I see.”

Somehow it was easier now for Ignis to slip into a relaxed state. Perhaps it was the meal, or maybe even the company. His breathing began to even out as Cor finished his food, putting the container aside. The mattress creaked beneath his weight and Cor have a long, world weary sigh, letting all the tension he carried on his shoulders run free.

“You haven’t asked about anyone,” Cor said suddenly just as Ignis began to falter.

As useless as it was, Ignis opened his eyes. “Hm?”

A beat passed. “You haven’t asked about your family,” Cor said, tone holding something that Ignis could not decipher. As he grew older Ignis often wondered how much of his father he really knew – Cor could hide secrets from his nation, and from his king. Despite Ignis’ belief that he had never turned falsehoods upon his children, it would be nothing at all to hide his true face from his children. “Not even your father.”

There was something awful about his voice. Whatever it might have been, it wavered for a moment, horribly vulnerable. It was an understatement of the emotions that Cor still managed to hide. Ignis was again glad that he couldn’t see Cor’s face.

“Do you just not care,” Cor asked, lilt struggling under the weight of it all, and Ignis’ heart and stomach lurched.

Shame filled his belly. Ignis looked down, hoping his expression was unreadable. He cleared his throat firmly and distracted himself with a loose thread upon his jumper. His nail caught a knot.

“How is he, then,” Ignis asked, clearing his throat around the shame, and the cold finally made him shiver.

“Heartbroken,” Cor told him simply. His voice was very, very soft. “He misses you so much. Struggles every day with you being gone. Terrified that it was something he could have fixed all along.”

Amais was always a man who worried about the big and the small. He would wring his hands and get himself into a terrible mess until all was solved and well. That had made him perfect for Cor – a problem solver who just needed someone to love, and Amais was full of affection. Missing his eldest would no doubt lead to sleepless nights, panic, and now his youngest and his husband had left for the hunt.

Amais was the one who had been left behind. It was not a satisfying thought.

An apology became stuck in his chest. It was caught somewhere in the cage of his ribs. Perhaps that was what Cor was after. With one precious sense gone Ignis could not tell. Cor’s control was simply too masterful. “I hope that Iris and Talcott can offer him some comfort.”

Cor exhaled harshly. He scrubbed his hand across his face. “Ignis,” he tried, but a ringing phone filled the tense room.

Ignis’ phone remained still and quiet in his jacket pocket. Cor muttered something foul beneath his breath and fumbled for his own, unzipping his black leather jacket. “Excuse me,” he managed, bitter to his core and swept from the room.

It didn’t feel like salvation. Ignis strained his ears to listen, turning his head. Block F was utterly silent. Only Cor’s footsteps creaked, unsettling the dust. “Monica,” he said quietly. “How is everyone doing?”

Ignis hung his head. Alone again, and worse for wear. Unshakeable guilt was a torture he had not anticipated, drawing his skin unbearably tight. All his family had done was love him – but with the very same act hurt him, humiliate him, and Ignis knew he loved them still. His heart called for them as painfully as it ached. For his sibling, his fathers, and his lover.

Ignis did not take pleasure in being alone. Above all else he wanted those easy days of Insomnia, guiding his prince and laughing with his friends. The immeasurable warmth of a hand in his would be a grand comfort, no matter where they were, how dour the world seemed.

An intense longing for the past haunted his every moment. No matter how he sought to banish it, it merely lay dormant until Ignis lay his weary head against his jacket. It came in the silence to claw at his shredded heart. Ignis could not stand fast forever.

Shifting, he moved to lie more comfortably. He nuzzled his face into his jacket, willing the doubt away. This was not about him. This was about Gladio – and Ignis had no idea what they would bicker about the moment they met again. Shame, perhaps, or Ignis’ departure. It was only a matter of time before he knew.

To his expectation, it was much harder to sleep in the quiet, and he pretended to be dreaming as Cor came back into the room. Like he was a child again, lying still as Cor drew a blanket over his shoulders - and unlike his childhood, his heart was filled with nothing but pain.


	4. Chapter 4

No sign of Gladio came that night, or nor the next, or nor even the very next, and each hour that passed only dragged on longer and longer, Ignis’ frustrations without an end.

It became a sluggish queue of hours that slipped by almost without his notice and the unease between his companions knew no relief. Every settlement they passed was unfamiliar and filled with faces that Cor and Prompto would greet warmly, and Ignis would wait in silence to be recognised. _My son,_ Cor would eventually say, a little hesitatingly, and Ignis was no longer in any mood to make nice.

Their company was always chased off in a matter of moments, desperate to escape the tension, and none of them had never seen hide nor hair of the Amicitia boy. The same tired old story would repeat again and again as Gladio eluded them still.

Cor remained kind, careful, but didn’t breach the topic of Lestallum again.

There was nothing more to be said when he had doused the situation so spectacularly, Ignis supposed, but it still caused a pain that Ignis considered childish – even if it hooked into his heart sinking deeper and deeper and tearing the muscle beyond repair. It was certainly established that Ignis would walk with them only long enough to locate Gladio, making no excuses for his departure and no apologies, and Cor and Prompto seemed to accept that, if not be content. And Ignis was fine with that, he told himself again and again, stealing moments of sleep sitting upright in the van or digging through their bags for a meal.

But the silence nourished his doubt, and it bloomed into a dozen different pains. The grudge that Ignis held, the isolation that claimed him, and the agony of Prompto’s barely contained anger.

Maybe it wasn’t fair to place the blame solely at the feet of their family. They had begun the injustices, damn near locking Ignis up and throwing away the key, but Ignis had drawn out the fight and refused to even be amiable. In the same vein Prompto was silent, Cor seemingly not knowing where the begin or how to speak without earning Ignis’ ire, and Ignis could not breathe life into the hollow shell he had left of himself.

All the while the stars still failed to shine. Ignis’ eyes barely caught the shadows of the streetlamps as they trawled beneath. The sky remained the same uniform grey that Iris had described to him long ago, the unnatural smog too thick for any hint of the sun. They drove onward with their lights stunningly bright, fending off the worst of the beasts from their path, but Ignis could hear the groans of their bodies, the slam of their footsteps, the moans torn from their monstrous mouths.

Ignis thought they had been rather lucky as of now. They bounced from settlement to settlement and often pushed themselves investigate the havens set further afield when Cor grew suspicious of the tents upon the stone – or at least, when he dared to risk it all. It was Ignis’ curse to stay alone within the car, engine left running, parked beneath the fleeting protection of a lamppost.

Or perhaps they had not been so fortunate after all. At every step Gladio evaded them with not even whispers of rumours to guide them, and every day there were more anxious phone calls. Iris’ tears met Ignis’ stoic quiet, and Monica’s quiet judgement seemed cold in comparison. Even Talcott’s trembling voice joined the fray, a little boy lost. The sands of the hourglass were slipping endlessly, and Ignis’ shoulders drew tighter and tighter with no answers to any of his questions.

With every night that he went to bed with no idea where Gladio and Noctis could be at this moment, his chest ached all the worse, and still dreams of the past pursued him.

They had taken a turn for the worse. They were colder yet, something Ignis had not thought possible. Unfamiliar ghosts shifted beyond the shadows, coasting behind the shoulders of those Ignis knew. Astrals and kings, his friends and family. All was far beyond Ignis’ grasp. Voices met his ears as if submerged a thousand leagues beneath the sea and Ignis choked on soft blue petals, his body aflame even as vines dragged him deeper beneath the depths. There was no saving him, and the ghosts didn’t deign to reach out for him.

There was the miserable touch of armour upon his skin, Ignis thought. He wasn’t sure how he knew, cut off from nearly every sense. But a terrible musk filled his nose, like the ancient pages of a long-forgotten book that crumbled in his hands, like cloth buried amongst dust, and robes draped over his skin as armour dug into the flesh of his wrist.

There was something terrible in the darkness. It was different to the Kings who plagued him still. Ignis could never hope to know it but it’s true name, and when he started awake, it was to Cor’s strong arms around him.

Breathing was an impossibility. Not a single breath was deep enough, and Cor pushed his sweaty hair from his eyes, the cool touch of his prosthetic firm upon his shoulder. The contact was so familiar that Ignis immediately felt a bit better. “It’s ten thirty-five,” he said, voice thick with sleep. “You’re in Kelbass barracks, and you had fish pie for dinner. Focus.”

The memories were foggy. All the days blended to become one. But Ignis remembered cutlery in his hands, the uncomfortable diner seat. Reality came back quicker to him then, his breaths evening as he distracted his overworked mind.

It seemed there was no escaping the torment. Ignis closed his stinging eyes and grit his teeth. Still Cor’s arms remained, and they lay in silence and darkness.

“It’s just a dream,” Cor told him, and it brought the memory of childhood days. Ignis clambering up into his parent’s bed, limbs scrambling, eager for their warmth and reassurance. He was too old to spend the night with them, but his father’s hands were always kind. “It’s nothing more than a dream.”

Sleep was well and truly beyond him. He cast his eyes away and sniffed hard. “I know,” he said, and waited silently for a dawn that would never come.

Life carried on even if Ignis’ body continuously lagged behind. It scraped at him, something clawing from the inside. These days he made no attempt to hide his hasty phone calls. Every few hours he tried his luck. Pressing himself against the wall between a nameless Coernix station and a doctor’s office, trying to not listen to the moans of pain that came through a cracked open window, he called for Gladio. No hope lightened his chest, and his madness was to try again and again with no result.

“ _Hey_ ,” Gladio said, voice rough. “ _Unavailable right now_ -”

Ignis swore to himself and hung up. Again. Again, and Ignis could barely reign back his anger.

“Maybe you should try leaving a message,” Cor suggested, waiting patiently at the mouth of the alley, and Ignis sighed. Tucking his phone into his pocket, he swore to himself that he wouldn’t touch it for the rest of the day. Each time he never lasted more than an hour.

“If he’s not responding to any of our calls, what will my words do?” Rolling his shoulders hard, he winced as something cracked. A pained grunt escaped him. “Let us continue. There is no point in remaining.”

“You’re not tired?”

“There is no point,” Ignis said again, shouldering past his father, and another long quiet journey to another hopeless place followed.

It was remarkable, Ignis thought, that they still had plentiful land to comb. In the time he had spent a recluse the country could have succumbed to disaster. They had already lost much of the south, almost a full quarter of Lucian land to the beasts. But still they waged on, beating against the darkness, and Ignis couldn’t help but be impressed at the resilience of the hunters. Lestallum was the last city – possibly in what little remained of Eos, with radio silence from Altissia and nothing but death in Niflheim – and it struggled. There were many mouths to feed and homes to keep warm. Ignis did not envy the family that remained, but every settlement they visited beyond was the same – destitute, exhausted, but moving on.

Often as they moved east, they ate from cans in their car, unwilling to take what little food encampments had managed to scrape together, but they were always offered food, blankets, anything that they might need. Ignis grew tired of beans and sweetcorn but had eaten just as poorly at Caem – at least, he supposed, he did it now with steady company. Even Prompto, a once picky eater unless it came to his family’s cooking, ate without complaint.

It was a kindness, he supposed, that he could not witness the pain endured by the settlements like Cor and Prompto did. Ignis strengthened his resolve and looked forward as best he could, unable to take in the sight of tears and suffering. He could all too easily remember the heaving Tenebrean station that gleamed beside the manor’s flames, all the refugees he attempted to guide from Altissia before the first of the heavy waves hit. Pain had become a constant in each of their lives. Each refugee bore scars. Perhaps his blindness was a twisted gift.

The further they moved out east the less Ignis recognised. Once these roads had been second nature to him. The world had changed in a thousand subtle ways – the scent of the soil, the bite of the cold. Now it was Prompto had left his mark. In each settlement a dozen friendly voices called to him and Prompto recognised them all and called their names in turn. Not a single day passed where he didn’t offer his aid unprompted to struggling hunters or desperate travellers. Ignis was reluctant to waste time that they couldn’t spare but Prompto worked through his food breaks, taking a sandwich a bite at a time as he sat to tinker with broken radios, stitching simple wounds. Cor would make nice with people who were strangers to Ignis, introducing him fondly as his eldest son, and Ignis had no energy or desire to smile.

Ignis kept his eyes solely on his prize. Gladio was the first thought in his head in the darkness of morning. He was the very last when Ignis finally managed sleep, and he swore that he could sense his presence again within Ignis’ dreams. There was no space that Gladio didn’t occupy. And Ignis loved him still, a man who directed his temper towards his lover rather than his reluctant king.

After Noctis was gone Gladio had been determined to make up for his shortcomings. Even in the harshest of nights Gladio had been there for Ignis when he dreamt, skin delightfully warm and his arms more reassuring than any childhood blanket. And Ignis missed his affections sorely, as reluctant as he was to admit it even to himself. Ignis had accepted his apologies because for years Gladio had been his perfect counterpart, always supportive and loving in his hour of need, charming and fond beyond, and Ignis loved him. It may have been that he was stubborn and misguided at times, but so was Ignis – and they were both open with those they loved, never truly cruel, and Gladio’s word was his bond.

At least, he had been.

Gladio’s change hadn’t been noticeable in the days immediately after Insomnia’s fall. Or Ignis simply hadn’t looked close enough, concerned more with shepherding Noctis back and forth across the country, focusing on making up where their future king faltered. But as the days slipped by without being able to see his sister Gladio’s temper grew shorter, the easy smile dropping.

As Noctis became reclusive Gladio grew bitter and Ignis knew he had never stopped to hear him out. Once it well and truly too late he had tried but Ignis was sure that it had not been enough. Gladio had fallen into fury and pain, incensed when Ignis tried to pretend nothing had changed with his sympathies more attuned to the king who refused to act, and a loving man, in his fear, regressed to little more than the title that had been pressed upon him by destiny – not a lover, not a friend. Merely a tired and battered shield.

The scars grew and the tissue never truly healed. The flesh knotted and hardened, and there was no treating the wound.

Ignis wondered if there was any way that all of this could be prevented. It seemed unlikely. He was even less convinced that anything could be salvaged - too much of him had been wrapped up in his own affairs. And Ignis’ own fear and worry had killed his patience, his kindness, and Ignis carried his shame and wrath as Prompto walked the world and learned more and more with each day, forging friendships and bonds that would hold strong in times of stress.

Ignis slipped further and further behind and wouldn’t do a thing to save himself.

-X-

While the skeleton of the Imperial blockade that sat between Leide and Duscae remained, all cruel metal and abandoned vehicles, it was under no man’s control.

Travel between regions was almost entirely banned. Anyone who stopped at the Coernix station on the very edge of Cleigne, one of the many stations heavily fortified with a barracks, were waylaid and questioned sharply and firmly guided west back towards Lestallum. It was an easy thing to simply keep moving, pushing south past the battered chocobo post and join with Leide from there – but Dave had mused that it was always going to be impossible to stop those eager to dance with death, and best of luck to them.

Prompto checked over his guns obsessively. He clicked and hummed, sighing to himself, and it brought Ignis no comfort. Another foul wind came from the Alstor Slough as he worked. It was faint but still made Ignis’ nose wrinkle. “What’s wrong with the water,” he asked.

“Astrals only know,” a woman said with a long sigh. “Another test from the Astrals, I suppose.”

“Champ,” Cor said vaguely, and Ignis didn’t look up. After everything he had been through and even long before, Prompto had been always Cor’s champ, in the same way that Ignis was Amais’ sweet thing. Through it all, their children remained precious to them. “Do you still have the gil I gave you? They don’t accept tokens over here.”

“No,” Prompto said reluctantly, with the slow shame of a child in the midst of realising a terrible mistake. “I used it for the pair of boots I needed yesterday. I don’t have any left.”

“Ah,” Cor said and rubbed at his mouth. His bristles were even sharper now, scraping against his nails. “It’s no problem,” he said, even as the doubt stuck together his syllables. “We can make it work.”

Nervously Prompto shifted from foot to foot. “Do we have enough for the fuel?”

“No,” Cor said grimly, and at his elbow Prompto quivered. “I’m going to take a hunt to make up the rest.”

Abruptly, Ignis’ stomach fell. Immediate nausea roiled through him at the prospect. Another night of dancing with danger, and yet another night that Ignis would be expected to simply wait, hoping that the fates would not take any more from him.

Prompto straightened up at his elbow. “Let me go,” he insisted and Ignis knew his anxious tone well. “If you stay with Iggy, I can make up for it. I’m sure someone around here will offer gil for any work.”

“There’s not a damn thing to make up for,” Cor told him very firmly. Feet scuffed the ground as someone passed and Cor lowered his voice out of instinct. “I’ll take something quick. But we can’t spare the time to keep doing odd jobs and waiting around – you and Ignis need to take the car down to the chocobo post and ask around there, okay?”

Both faltered. They had never separated like this before. “Dad,” Prompto said at the same time Ignis said, “Cor-”

“No arguments,” Cor interrupted, the father slipped away to be replaced by their Marshal. “Unless, of course, there’s any better ideas?”

Silence met him. Ignis’ nostrils flared in frustration but with sightless eyes and unsteady hands, there was nothing he could do. Not even the Armiger remained to them now, closed off just like how the Crystal had snapped unceremoniously shut, and Ignis was forced to sheath his daggers at his waist.

“Then it’s agreed,” Cor continued, and clapped his hands together sharply. “I’ll ask around for work. The fuel will last you the trip and back – you’ll meet me here once I’m done, alright?”

Prompto nodded furiously. His tags clicked and gleamed. “Okay,” he agreed despite sounding anything but happy.

“And you remember-”

Prompto sniffled and Ignis’ face grew pinched. As Prompto did not speak, Ignis cleared his throat firmly, tone lacklustre. “If you don’t come back or contact us within twenty-four hours, we keep moving.”

“Good boy,” Cor said, and Ignis’ heart could no longer feel.

At the end of all things, their duty would remain. No matter what they lost and no matter the world around them. It didn’t matter how much they struggled. Ignis had never wanted his little brother to know the pain of leadership, the guilt that remained with every choice, but in their new world there was no give. It only took, more and more, never satisfied. Both sons hung their heads, but Cor remained steadfast.

Rumours had flown about the piscodaemon that wandered the ragged rocks of Duscae. It was a danger in itself, but left far more powerful creatures in its wake, touched by the daemon’s foul magic. These beasts were beyond what most hunters could handle and Ignis knew that Cor’s expression was steely as he ripped the poster from the hunt board.

At their side one of the hunters hissed out a breath. “Astrals,” she said, but Cor paid her no heed.

He prepared in silence. Ignis anticipated his ritual. Cor would prepare his things in the necessary quiet, always calculating, and considerate. Double and triple checking each of his things, refusing their limited coin and food when offered and leaving the lion’s share of what little remained of their potions and elixirs when offered. Ignis could not breathe as his father packed, hearing Prompto’s insistence and barely masked pleas for him to stay.

Last, Cor would go to his family and kiss each of their heads. Ignis remembered being woken in the dead of night as a child by his father’s scratchy beard, kissed goodbye and tucked into bed firmly. Ignis had never been allowed to follow him to the door.

Prompto had long earned his kiss and Cor slipped away for just a moment to call his husband, returning after a long while with a voice that Ignis pretended did not waver. He spoke weakly as he touched Ignis’ shoulder, knowing his embrace would be unwelcome. “Keep safe,” he said. “And look after Prompto.”

It was hard to swallow against his sandpaper dry mouth. “Yes,” he said simply, and Cor hitched a ride with a courier, leaving in silence, and Ignis didn’t know what to do.

For the first time in days Ignis stood alone with his brother, and his chest grew painfully tight. The car rumbled and rattled, gone in moments, and Ignis had the gnawing, awful feeling that a horrible mistake was being made.

To his left Prompto sniffled, still aching through his sullen act and full of wordless worry. Ignis wondered how long it had been since he had been on the road without a close companion. He tapped his water bottle repeatedly against his thigh, brimming with anxiety. "We should keep moving," he said, clearly distracted, and Ignis crossed his arms against his chest.

"Should we not await his return, or give chase?" He asked, unable to settle himself. In another world, such worry would have been largely brushed aside. Cor was a man of many talents and talented men had relied on him in turn. Now three years into a nightmare there was no waking from, there was no room for arrogance. Good hunters had been quickly lost to the darkness.

Prompto exhaled through his nostrils. "He said to go ask around."

Ignis' brows creased. "But-"

"We should keep moving," Prompto said again, firmer, and the keys to the van rattled in his hands. "Gladio won't stay in one place for long."

There was no arguing with him, even if Ignis wanted to. Impatient, frustrated, Ignis was forced to follow wherever Prompto led. All noises were pushed aside, all strangers ignored. The focus alone fell to his brother, and the aching loss Gladio had slowly become. “Cor is on a fool’s errand,” Ignis argued, nonetheless. “And we shouldn’t separate.”

"Go bring it up with someone who has the time to listen," Prompto shot back without hesitation. "If you don't wanna come, you can stay here until we come back."

The very thought sparked outrage. It hit a sore spot he had left unguarded. "I'm not sitting here waiting around alone."

"Then get in the damn car," Prompto said, yanking his door open, and slamming it shut again with moments.

Automatically, before Ignis had time to absorb his shock, the engine rumbled to life. From what little light Ignis could see, the shadows changed sharply as Prompto brought the headlights to life. Ignis knew he had little time and scowled, stepping in front of the car to prevent Prompto's hasty escape.

Ignis' trailing fingers found unexpected dents in the hood. When he found the door and slipped silently inside the radio was playing, news announcements from a tired sounding woman.

_Word is spreading that unnaturally powerful beasts are wandering the wetlands of Duscae,_ she said, such news ten a gil. Still, she spoke faithfully. While Ignis did not know her name, the announcer had been working tirelessly through the apocalypse to bring them news of the world, occasional contact with settlements that had been lost. Everything south of Hammerhead was tentative, and Ignis did not look forward to searching the lost lands if they ever had an inkling Gladio was fool enough to walk those plains. _Travellers have been warned against venturing from the road towards the havens unless the situation is dire. Hunters will be dispatched to deal with the cause. In possibly related news, the river at Old Lestallum is currently being investigated regarding a downriver Malboro infestation-_

Without delay Prompto began to drive. He inched out of the settlement, indicating as carefully as his father, and picked up speed further down the road. It was not a long journey, but the trees still hung low, blocking out the moonlight and now, left untamed, hanging even lower than the streetlamps. It would be difficult to see beyond their headlamps and Ignis did not envy his brother the task.

There was a chilliness within the car. Ignis ran his hands thoughtlessly against his worn seatbelt and stretched his legs. A migraine was settling in behind his eyes and the lightest drizzle of rain began to drum against the roof. Prompto said nothing, eyes determinedly across the road and turning before they could arrive at the abandoned tunnel.

A journey past Hammerhead would not be easy. Even the shortest journeys were rife with danger. And these roads were almost equally perilous - if Ignis rolled down the windows he knew he would hear something creeping amongst the bush, something foul and new that had traumatised Wiz's stock of chocobos. Deadeye was a falling feather compared to more modern threats though Wiz hadn't admitted defeat yet. Builders and hunters came to Wiz in droves, eager to keep chocobo rides accessible for those desperate and without a car or just for the love of feathered folk, building a far sturdier kennel for the anxious birds. For now, it had lasted - but if the piscodaemon found favour in the east, it would not be wise to linger.

Ignis had not heard from Wiz since the very beginning. Only the faintest whisper of rumours came to him - the gauntness of his cheeks, the exhausted look to his eyes. Even the cheeriest faltered, Ignis supposed, and Prompto had grown the same.

No warmth came from Ignis' right. Prompto silently drove with only one sign of his deep anxiety. His fingers drummed against the steering wheel, a quick beat no doubt matching his heartbeat. Ignis often felt much calmer with a weapon in his hands on the rare occasions that they were forced to trek in the night-time and Prompto too checked his guns endlessly, always close at hand. He was a man to stick close to his loved ones, a cautious eye making certain that the sway of branches was not something more sinister, and always feeling almost confident with Cor or Gladio at his flank.

It must have been terrifying to stand alone in the darkness, and to traverse Niflheim thinking you had no friend in the world. Ignis felt a sting of pity and could no longer stand the dour silence.

With a long sigh he rest his head back. It felt good to close his eyes but nauseating to speak. "I'm sorry that I doubted you," he began, testing the strength of Prompto's defences. "I did not mean to supersede you."

In the silence Ignis knew that he was being watched. He knew Prompto looked hurriedly between him and the road, eyes always straying to Ignis. An uncertainty bound them both. "Just let me drive," Prompto said finally, voice rough and low.

Ignis had found a sensitive spot. The coil of discomfort between them drew together. "I know the path before us has been long, and will be longer yet," he murmured. "I have no intention of stifling your growth."

"Ignis," Prompto began, terse, and Ignis continued, afraid he would lose the courage.

"I'm sure our father is proud of your progress, and all you've accomplished. I know that Gladio and Noctis-"

"Just let me drive," Prompto insisted, fiercer, every part the lion and none of the cub, and Ignis' mouth snapped shut. Surprise rendered him speechless. "Just stop talking."

(EDIT)

Stung, and worse yet, with no right to be, Ignis turned his head towards the window. The world whipped by without his knowledge. "Alright," he said softly, and hoped they would arrive soon.

They sped up. They moved too fast to be anywhere near the turn for Wiz's and Prompto's fingers kept drumming louder and louder. It paired with the pulse of Ignis' headache and Ignis rest his temple against the window for sweet relief. Fresh air would do him good. He waited out the stale stench of the car and the oppressive quiet.

It was Prompto's cry shattering their silence that told Ignis something was terribly and suddenly wrong. Seconds later the sound that birthed his panic followed - the screeching of metal, the whisper of foul winds and deeds, and horror tightened Ignis' chest.

Something came to life out in the wild. Darkness pooled within the floor and a shadow emerged slowly, crawling across the ground, claws clicking. On instinct Prompto slammed the breaks. They had nowhere to go - the bushland lining the road had been far too thick to go off road or even flee, barely held back by steel fences, and they could not rush past the shadow.

Ignis lurched forward with the force of the brakes. The seatbelt drew taut and saved him from worse injury, even as it cut across his throat and burned the vulnerable skin. He choked, coughing and hacking, dazed. He wheezed for air and held onto the door to ground himself.

A long groan filled the frozen night air. Something rustled the dead trees, leadless branches like bones. It seemed to drone on forever and Ignis shook the shock away as soon as he was able, wincing against the pain of his throat and chest. He yanked the seatbelt away to breathe and fumbled frantically with the clip. "Prompto," he barely managed to speak, voice thick. "Prompto, what-"

At his side, the door was shoved open. "Stay in the car," Prompto warbled, scrambling out so quickly he almost fell. "Don't move! I'll pull it away from the car."

"Prompto," Ignis croaked, stunned, but he was already gone. Magic cut through the night air, like a winter's chill, and crystals formed on Prompto's skin as surely as Ignis'. Seconds later a blast followed, a shot piercing flesh, and something terrible wailed.

Claws clicked against the old tarmac. It was a constant sound, fast and nimble, and Ignis' mind filled in the blanks. _Arachne_. She would be too fast for one hunter alone. They were quicker than a blink, deadly in seconds, and Ignis would lose his brother forever.

All Ignis could do was mumble a desperate prayer. "Astrals," he gasped, and fumbled for the door handle. Cursing himself, struggling to find it, he too almost fell out of the door in his eagerness. "Prompto!"

"Get back in the car," Prompto urged, already far across the road, but whatever he said next was overshadowed by the arachne. She hissed, a sound that raised the hairs upon the back of Ignis' neck. It was louder and more terrifying than any gunshot, than any explosion.

It was difficult to stay crouched low Despite his knowledge that it was the right thing to do he hated to cower helplessly. His mind was too busy to sort out his logic, panicked at the risk posed to his brother. He would never leave Cor's side again. Ignis swore he would tie the two of them together. "Prompto, surely-"

"Get back, Ignis!" Prompto screamed his way and fired at the demon again. Both bullets struck their mark, and the creature was moving, rushing headlong along the road. Ignis could not tell if they collided. But Prompto was still panting, the noise almost lost beneath the din. The terror coloured his voice, a man so young left alone and uncertain.

There was little Ignis could do. Still, he would act. Steadying himself with a hand against the door he rose on shaking legs. With nowhere else left to turn he reached hard for the Armiger, unwelcoming still, and straighten out his mind against all assault to reach inside. Ever since Noctis was lost to them it had punished them, tantalisingly close but always edging out of reach. Ignis bared his teeth, pushing away the sounds of battle and Prompto’s cries, and let the numbness take his fingers.

_Come to me,_ he thought. _I won't lose anyone else. I can't._

The world around him was a mystery. When he stepped forward, he stumbled, a pothole almost twisting his ankle. Cold crept along his wrist and filled his veins and his fingers closed as if around the handle of his polearm. It was a weight he had long missed, perfectly balanced, and made for his hands. His, and the talent was still there - Ignis would not falter.

Planting his feet uneasily against solid ground, he reached for the power gifted by kings and Astrals. While it lay dormant it was still there, a spark of energy within his chest, and the warmth of his blood overtook the chill. Even as ice crystals clung to his nails a rush of heat overtook him. It was enough to flush his cheeks and darken his disguised eyes, skin blistering. "Prompto," he called. "Stay away!"

His only response was rage and an undercurrent of fear. "Ignis, don't be - get back-"

The power within his hands fizzled out without fanfare and Ignis’ wrist erupted in pain.

Gasping, Ignis flexed his hand to avoid the cramps. “Shit,” he burst, a loathing mix of fury and shame, and shook to chase away the numbness. Daggers, then, he thought, and fumbled for the steel at his waist. They were faithful at least.

Ignis focused instead on the sound of the arachne, letting every sound of rustling leaves and clicking claws prickle his ears, and knew his foes every weakness. He let his breathing slow and time seemed to slow down for an instant - and with a flick of his hands he threw one blade. N arc of fire let shadows flicker in his sightless eyes. The cold fell upon him as the fire flew and the arachne screamed, furious. Ignis heard her stagger and the torn cloth her kind wore caught fire.

More shots filled the night sky, and Ignis knew Prompto would seize the time that her distraction gave to double back and reload. Ignis could smell the indescribable scent of magic, hear the clicking of his revolver. Ignis took his own chance to act, darting around the other side of the creature and preparing to let his remaining dagger fly at a moment’s notice. The other stayed imbedded in her flesh.

It was better to stay far away from the car. If she charged them, they risked having to make the rest of the journey on foot, and more of her ilk would surely come. Focusing on the sound of the demon thrashing, wailing, Ignis lumbered to one side of the road. His hand met an iron railing, branches scratching at his cheek. "Shit," he swore again, and Prompto was quick with practise. More shots, though a grunt of pain followed, and Ignis flipped his blade forward, anxious, unwilling to part from it just yet.

If they were fortunate, they could bring the beast down before she summoned her pets. The skittering of her spiders would distract Ignis' senses, and their venom would be a risk they could not afford to take. Ignis pushed himself, wishing there were more blades between them, wishing Gladio were close to shout his own orders, to have Ignis' back through the thick of it.

Ignis could not be confident that his second throw would land. Magic would still be possible it not, but Ignis clung to it for any kind of reassurance. Defiant he passed it between uncertain hands, knowing there was no chance he could summon them back if lost, and taking quick steps backwards into the road. The longer the fight drew on, the more they risked more demons being drawn by the noise, and their run of luck had been despairing thus far. The arachne grunted and growled, dragging her limbs across the crumbling road, and turned - focusing her attention upon Ignis.

Ear splitting with rage, she shrieked again. It made him recoil, desperate to cover his ears, at such a pitch his migraine was fire beyond his eyes. A pain stabbed through his skull, sinking into his brain, and Ignis lost track of her entirely. "Prompto!" He cried uselessly beneath her roar, lost, and his feet found nothingness. He slipped and fell, back striking the road and pain sparking within his ankle. The blade clattered out of his hand with the force.

A dizziness took each of his senses. His numb hands were useless, and the magic was newly fleeting. as he became distracted. In his panic he pushed himself back, feet planted against the tarmac, ankle sprained and aching. "Prompto," he gasped again, "Cor," and he couldn't hear anything past a terrible ringing.

But she should have been upon him. Through experience Ignis knew these beasts were wickedly fast, capable of blending into shadows and dropping down from the trees - they were shrewd and intelligent, capable of taking out a full team of hunters, and yet she was gone.

Ignis took the chance to get up while he still could. He scrambled backwards and struggled to push with his magic-afflicted hands. "Come to me," he ordered, _come to me_ , and his polearm refused to materialize. Ignis flexed his stuff hands, the skin shredded and bloody in the fall. _Come to me._

Something popped in his ears. Three times, and a cry of triumph filled the night sky. Scrabbling and scraping and then a bubbling roar, the taste of ichor on the back of Ignis' tongue and within his nostrils. He forced himself to stand, the knees of his pants ruined. The beast was on the floor, dragging each limb, gagging and screeching around ichor, and the scent of burning flesh clung to him. It was enough to make his retch. Sick to his stomach he moved away, recuperating his senses.

_Come to me, come to me_ , and still his hands were empty. The numbness was unbearable, and the only dagger he had slipped out of his hands. Swearing Ignis fumbled for it, fingers curling around the blade, digging into his pads. The flesh was malleable. Ignis had forgotten the fear of the unknown and he bit back his bile.

_Not useless yet_ , he told himself, even if his tongue was thick in his mouth.

He found the handle, adorned with familiar cherry blossom patterns, tracing his fingers across the petals that Cor had chosen. The reassurance helped barely as he exhaled harshly, his heart drumming against his rib cage, throat shredded. "Prompto," he tried again, and the sounds of the arachne began to die out.

While its life faded the tension lingered. So did the stench, and the fire that flickered. Ignis heaved and his throat was sore, filled with the evening cold and the burning sickness. The creature was faint and bubbling, far across the road. He could not hear Prompto.

Soon the night was silent. It wasn't blissful. The wind made the leafless branches above bow and scratch across the fences. From across the road Prompto coughed, hacking, and boots scraped across the road, coming closer.

There was a disgusting sound – a blade leaving flesh, and Prompto fetched Ignis’ thrown dagger.

Temporary relief brimmed inside Ignis' heart. "Are you alright," he asked, breathless, and could only stagger back surprised when a hand shoved at his shoulder.

"I told you," Prompto seethed like nothing Ignis had heard from him before. "I told you to stay in the car!"

Stunned, Ignis stood very still. "Prompto, I-"

"You have to listen to me," he interrupted and Ignis was cowed. Prompto had never been so angry, and never turned such ire upon his brother. He had been sweet all his life and let his family fight his battles - had let the Council spew their poison without a word, and let others issue the orders in battle. It was simply Prompto's nature to follow and had never turned a firm hand to anyone past the beasts and men that tried to end their journey. "You don't make the decisions right now. I don’t care if you think you’re ready. You do not involve yourself in hunts. You listen to me. Do you understand me?"

The shock rendered Ignis' instinctive anger mute. "You would have died."

"Or you would have," Prompto shot back. "I don't care if it pisses you off. I decide what keeps us alive. You are staying in the car and that's final."

All Ignis could do was stammer. It was not often that words were beyond him. It was a blow to his stomach to have Prompto of all people angered, and shame replaced his sense of triumph. The numbness sat heavy within his heart.

"Prompto," he said softly, but without another word Prompto pushed past him.

"It's dead. I got your shit." he grunted. "Get in the car. We're going."

Ignis followed, steps uncertain. An apology might have soothed the worst of his temper but it stuck to his teeth again, impossible to budge. He was clueless to fix it, lost entirely. To make matters worse Ignis could not even recall where the car was. Instead, he focused on Prompto's footsteps thudding away and the sound of his weapon shoved back into his holster. Ignis tucked his own away, praying that the night would bring no more terrors.

"Prompto," he called instead and earned no response. "Prompto?"

The car door was roughly pulled open. With renewed confidence Ignis picked up his pace, following urgently. "Prompto, I want you to talk to me," he began. "You've been tense ever since... since you spoke of what happened to you."

It was not a topic broached carelessly. Not upon a dangerous road when Prompto was reeling and at his most vulnerable, but Ignis could not tip toe around it. The family had only once spoken of what happened in the keep, and it was a moment full of tears and tragedy. Now, perhaps, was not the time - but it was the only time Prompto had spoken more than a handful of words to him. Ignis no longer had the luxury of picking his battles.

The rage only came to a boil, bubbling. "I don't want to talk to you," Prompto fired back, agitated. His words left grit teeth. "You don't get to tell me when you want to talk - you don't get to just slink back after you left and talk like you’re some fucking therapist. You left! You just fucked off and left me!"

There was no way to save face. Ignis scrambled for the last of his dignity. "I had to," Ignis told him, clinging to calm. He finally found the hood of the car, solid against his pained knees. "I know it was… not ideal - but don't think you realise how-"

"Fuck you," Prompto told him, wrathful. His words were venomous. "You don't get to tell me what I see. You don't get to tell me how to feel. You caused this pain – to your own family."

Everything spiralled out of control, crashing through rock bottom. Ignis recoiled as if struck. "I didn't mean to-"

"Just get in the godsdamn car!" Prompto snapped and slammed his door.

Ignis stood alone and silent within the light of the headlamps. His heart was thumping loudly within his ears. _Useless_ , he thought, _stupid_. Every single moment of his life lead to this awful moment, rendering him nothing more than an aching mess of a man. There was nothing he could do but sidle after him, hands shaking, pain lacing through his chest. He found his door still open and felt along until he found the roof of the car, careful to not hit his head.

The seats crackled beneath his weight. It was awkward in the tense quiet. He shut the door and immediately Prompto brought the engine back to life, flooring it, hands no longer drumming against the wheel.

_I'm sorry_ , Ignis wanted to say, and instead they spend the rest of the ride in a terrible oppressive silence, staring at nothing.

-X-

It was only a matter of minutes until Prompto took the turn into Wiz's farm, no matter how it dragged on like hours, and Ignis didn't dare make a sound.

The car rattled over loose stones and once upon a time all the stresses upon Ignis' shoulders would have lifted in the face of the neon lights and the homey feel to the farm - every assistant wearing a wonderful smile and the chocobos ruffling their feathers in excitement upon seeing the baskets full of greens. The farm was the one place in all Duscae that had felt untouched by the threat of war, and now there was an uneasy feeling as they came to a slow stop.

Prompto parked deftly and hopped out as soon as he cut the engine. Ignis took a moment longer, smoothing a hand over his weary face before departing. They had come for answers. Nothing else. The sorry state of his family was irrelevant - Gladio's whereabouts were the most important thing to him now. _One thing at a time._

_What a mess_ , he thought. All this time Ignis had lamented Gladio's stubborn nature, his inability to speak softly when incensed, and here he stood like he was any better. Battered and bruised, unable to speak the apology that they deserved, and hated.

The cool air made Ignis feel a little better. The scent of chocobo muck and human sweat less so. Breathing deeply made his nose wrinkle against the sour scent and the farm was quieter than he had ever known it. There were no voices or squarks from the kennels. Nothing but the squelch of wet earth beneath his feet and then the sound of a door groaning open.

Someone lumbered forward with a heavy and awkward gait, and Ignis mustered the energy to glower their way. It had been a long series of days filled with disappointment and strangers and Ignis grew tired of entertaining them. No more questions, no more strange looks, and Ignis wanted nothing more to rest his weary head and wake up alone in Caem.

Prompto, however, surged forward with a laugh. It was a stark change from all that came before. "Wiz," he greeted warmly like their battles had never happened. "Long time. How've you been?"

"Good to see you again, son. And your brother," Wiz returned and everyone Ignis had met had sounded so tired. There was no longer a warm bounce to his low timbre. Still he clasped Prompto's hand in his. "I'm as well as can be. But I wanna know something - there were gunshots out from where you came, and I know you're packing that revolver. It wasn't you, was it?"

"Sorry," Prompto said, sounding anything but. Ignis knew well the sound of his wry smile. "That was us. Arachne got the drop on us, but it was no problem. Done and dusted. Nothing else came along."

"Us," Wiz repeated and sounded concerned. "Your father wasn't involved, was he? A couple hunters are spending the night, but they didn't want to head out there. Too messy, they said."

"No, we're alone today."

Wiz puffed out a relieved sigh. Some men still carried the weight of the world upon their shoulders – even if it wasn’t theirs originally. "That's some good news. Haven't had any of that in a while."

Ignis gave them plenty of space and thusly jumped when a warm hand brushed his. It grasped his wrist firmly, a thumb against his thrumming pulse. "Mister Ignis," Wiz said, sounding like he was smiling. "It's been too long. Even longer than Mister Prompto. How have you been?"

There was nothing Ignis hated more than being touched without forewarning. But he forced a sickly smile, unwilling to incur any more of Prompto's wrath. "I've been fine, thank you. I hope your farm is running well."

"Ain't much of a farm no more," Wiz admitted, defeated. "Still got a few of the birds, couple of them loaned out to the hunters, but not much else. Not what it used to be."

PROMPTO HIT?

-

If there was a need for the simple pleasure of caring for an animal, it was now. Ignis could recall how happy Prompto had been to see his first chocobo since he was just a lad - the sharp beak had not cowed him once. He stroked all along the beast’s neck and laughed when it cooed at him, flushed pink in happiness. Riding one along the quiet streets or racing amongst the trees quickly became his favourite past time. Ignis had not been one for the scent and the often-unpredictable nature of the creature, and took charge of photography. He had done a good job, Prompto insisted after, and once they had made it to Lestallum Prompto had a few printed. Amais still had a few in frames around Caem, and they had been the first thing he had grabbed when they were forced to flee to Lestallum once the power died in a thunderous storm.

One of Ignis’ favourite memories had been cradling the chocobo egg. With his glasses almost snapped in the tousle, his jacket dirty and wrapped around the poor thing, Ignis had sprinted for the car while the others covered his back. Once behind the wheel he laughed endlessly, shocked at his own daring – and then weeks later there was a jet-black chick in his arms, a warm and loving weight.

Ignis had forgotten all his stress. No more MT’s, the worry of refuelling and fussing over ingredients gone. Against the backdrop of uncertainty and suffering it was good to relax for the afternoon. Spending a few hours fussing over the chocobo and eating a meal they didn't have to forage for was a delight.

A part of him wanted to ask after the chick. For a reason he could not identify, he didn’t. Instead he gnawed at his lower lip. "I'm very sorry to hear that," he said honestly. "I know how much love you put into every part of it."

"Yeah," A wistful sigh escaped Wiz's throat. Something jangled at his throat - the wedding rings, old but well kept, hung on a long chain. Mementos of a time long past. A life long beyond Wiz’s reach, and the pain that too many knew. "Just hurts to see it this way."

Prompto shoved his hands into his pockets. Ignis still could not feel his own. "Is there anything we can do for you? We're short on time, but if there's anything around-"

"You boys are a treasure," he said fondly, but cleared his throat. "Don't you worry about me. Everything is done for the night - pending disaster, of course. Matter is - what can I do for you boys? Can't imagine you're here for a club sandwich."

"I wish," Prompto laughed, almost as boyish as the days before. The sound was like sunshine breaking through thick grey cloud. Ignis had missed it sorely. "But you're right. We had a few questions for you. If you didn't mind."

It had almost become a trance now. The same bitter old story and dancing around the implied tragedy. A man lost within the dark, with no path to follow. Ignis bowed his head and barely listened as Prompto explained their tragic tale. He could imagine Wiz's thick brows sinking deeper and deeper into a tired face.

"Why would he do that," he asked, touched with confusion. Men like him always thought the best of their companions, and Wiz was not a man to shun family. A kind heart like his came rarely. "You haven't heard from him at all?"

"No," Prompto nodded slowly. It was not a word that left his mouth easily. "Hasn't even called his sister. So… you know it’s pretty out of character."

Humming, Wiz continued to rub his thumb against the golden rings. "He seemed a sweet kid, if rough around the edges," he mused and Ignis couldn't have agreed more. Some gems were not appreciated, and others cast aside. Some were jagged and cut deep. It was not their nature - simply part of life. If not handled correctly, they could be lost. "Can't believe he's just disappeared."

Both Prompto and Ignis caught the implication and winced. "So you've not seen him around, then," Ignis murmured.

"I'm afraid not," Wiz spoke as if shamed by his failure. "I'll keep an eye out, absolutely. Do I need to pass on a message?"

For a moment Prompto was silent. It was clear that Prompto had locked up a thousand things he wanted to say to a man who let the fire of disappointment and pain consume him entirely. Gladio had a firestorm ahead of him, and Ignis did not envy him. Their times would come.

"Tell him to come home," he finally said, and it would have to be enough.

-X-

There was a club sandwich waiting for them after all.

For the first time Ignis could not savour it. After everything he couldn't muster the appetite. He picked lifelessly at the salad, limp rather than crisp, but it was the best that could be done and Ignis remained grateful.

Travel sickness had rarely been something that bothered Ignis. It hadn’t unsettled his belly since he was a child, small enough to sit in his father’s lap with a reassuring hand rubbing along his back. Silently suffering, Ignis suspected it was the taut line of tension between him and his brother than made him sick to his stomach.

Ignis' nails picked at the slightly stale bread. Despite how he strained his ears, eager to not be caught off guard by the dead arachne’s companion as they drove, he could not help but slip into regret.

The state of their relationship was a sorry thing. Ignis had lost much since – _since_ , and it quickly dawned that Prompto’s love and respect was a price he was not willing to pay. But words were difficult things. Ignis had been good at laying on the charm but only with people vulnerable to being tricked, those who desperately wanted to hear flattery. Prompto was not a man for half-truths. Ignis did not want to sour him further by outright lying to him.

EDIT

This time the radio was switched off. Out of all the little comforts the world provided Ignis missed music sorely. It hadn’t meant much to him when he still possessed his sight – it was backfill, a buzz in the distance that could rarely pique his curiosity, but Ignis had come to lean on music in the days that slipped by them quicker and quicker. Sweet melodies from romantic movies that played in the late nights, the energetic nostalgia of club hits in the evenings as the weekend came too slowly. Noctis’ humming when it was something from the top forty, Prompto’s earnest attempt at ballads. Ignis would sing along too, if coaxed, and something Gladio would laugh until he cried or kiss Ignis to silence to save their aching ears.

Thoughts of Cor’s departure came to him again. It was never far. In another world Prompto’s hands would be laced in his and a dry kiss would be a vow against both their temples. But it clear that Cor had wanted to be affectionate with his eldest, to reach out to the boy he had known since he was bundled up in Amais’ arms and assure him everything was going to be okay. It was just matter of letting Cor show his love – and Ignis wasn’t sure if he could stomach it.

Faced with the two of them again Ignis was of two minds. Both warred against each other. One was hurting, licking its own wounds, and seeking comfort and resolution, and the other was furious. It thought only of the pain and disrespect that had been done to him. Both were valid, he thought, and often could not differentiate between the minds that guided him. One moment Ignis could be sympathetic, looking to soothe Prompto’s anger. Another Ignis could be angry in turn, enraged that he alone was being made out to be the villain.

Casting his mind back Ignis wondered exactly when his life had begun to spiral out of control. Ignis may no longer have considered himself lucky in any form, a sorry state of affairs claiming his perfect life, but deep inside he knew he was truly fortunate that his family had survived everything that life had thrown at them so far. Amongst that, they loved him – maybe Prompto had a complicated way of showing it, but he would not have been so furious had he not cared.

Too many people had loved and lost. Some had never had a family to begin with. Ignis knew he was wasting the opportunities gift to him. Heavens knew that if the Astrals gave him another chance with Gladio there would be so much to say –

With a start, he realised he had no clue what he would say.

Rumbling lowly to himself, settling his head back against the window, he tried to push such thoughts aside. Such a weight was exhausting. The truth was that many in the world envied him despite his scars and bitterness, wishing that they could see their family again. Ignis had simply cast it aside upon insult and remained indignant still.

But so had Gladio, so sure that he was right and that Ignis could never learn to fight again, and what fond thoughts Ignis carried always died at that moment.

A tangled weave of thoughts cluttered around Ignis’ feet. Prompto’s anger, Prompto’s tears, and Ignis knew not what to say. So he said nothing, letting the drive drag on and remain desolate, and they would both endure the silence.

Prompto drove faster than ever before. The curve in the road was taken carelessly, so fast that Ignis swore one side of the car lifted off, but Ignis didn’t say a word. With his window open the wind whipped his hair and nothing crept within the dark.

Nervous bellies only settled once they arrived back at the Coernix station. They found a parking space right by the old diner and Prompto left him without a word, door slamming. It shook the van and Ignis was not fool enough to give chase. With a careful touch to his throbbing temple he sighed out the worst of his woes.

Every little moment was quickly becoming too much. Everything was cold to the touch, ice frosting over, and Ignis remained in the car with his arms crossed over the dashboard, head bowed, visor cast thoughtlessly into the backseat.

The radio played a tune or two, sometimes. It was largely news and updates, sightings of the worst beasts and issued bulletins from Dave or his mother. Ignis knew that on some stations they played live entertainers, one for each hour, still able to earn a living through their talent. Sometimes they could make even Ignis smile, tucked in bed and waiting, endlessly waiting. But often there was only the crackle of dark silence – during what would have been the nights and early mornings.

Ignis lost track of the hours. No one dared bother him though he was sure Prompto was always nearby. Only the pressing needs of his bladder and stomach managed to shake him, energy close to abandoning him. Heavy eyes ached and he was lost as he slid out of the car, struggling to reacquaint himself with the settlement. There was a terrible crick in his back that wasn’t there before – perhaps he had slept a short while without realising.

Upon opening the door, a world’s worth of noise flooded in to greet him. A high murmur of voices merged with a car’s purring engine growing steadily closer. Ignis waited for it to pass, tracking the road with his ears. There were children following the car as it pulled in and they always glanced astride at him – there were stage whispers about the stranger and his murky eyes, the deathly pale hue to his skin. Ignis sought Prompto’s voice and could not place it beneath the rabble.

There was nothing else for it. Ignis awkwardly walked forward, remembering better days where he would stride with confidence and ignore the lingering looks of others. He ambled towards the radio and childish voices, knowing that if he doubled back for his visor that would be giving into shame.

The car engine cut out further along the way. The voices of the children rose excitably as they recognised the driver, calling for their auntie. They laughed and clamoured and Ignis walked by, unable to shake the weight in his chest.

As far as Ignis could remember the floor of the gas station had not been even. The road rest upon a gentle slope and Ignis strove to keep his balance, eager to disguise his lack of confidence. He kept track of each voice and committed their location to memory. The very last time they had been Noctis’ arms had been full of frogs, slimy and almost indignant. Prompto wore a look of disgust even as he snapped away, Gladio no doubt imagining he could be anywhere but in the back seat of a filthy car next to his sodden prince, and Ignis had found it difficult to park while holding back peals of laughter.

Ignis always parked in the shadow of a building. There had been much to consider even while they were away from the car, hiding away the prince’s valued property from curious eyes. Sometimes during the difficult days when coin did not come easily they rest their weary bodies within. Ignis slept at the wheel or sprawled across the backseat, someone reassuringly rubbing his ankles as they settled the blanket over their favourite driver. Tired legs could not carry them to havens, and tired eyes didn’t dare drive. Sometimes he wished someone could bear the burden for him – he was reluctant to hand it over but could carry it no further.

As the eldest Ignis never wanted to put any sort of strain upon Prompto’s shoulders. It was never to say that Prompto could not handle the pressure - the boy had grown into a confident young man, after all - but Ignis refused to relinquish control of all his spinning plates. Admitting weakness was difficult for him. Admitting that he might never be the man he was once was even harder, knowing that everyone would look at him differently. It killed him still to hear Prompto’s voice, knowing that would never see so sweet a face again.

But it seemed no matter what he did Prompto seemed to carry the pain like a curse. The Astrals flung stones, brought heavy waves crashing down upon their heads. They mocked them. Ignis could not comprehend why – why make the retinue of their Chosen King suffer so? If he was to lead them always, surely such trials were needless. The Kings of Old could watch over them, surely, or Shiva could intervene. Such cruelty was foreign to Ignis and the doubt of their choices often bewildered him.

Never had Ignis doubted Noctis, even for a second, but the blood seemed to no longer be blessed. Their name was haunted with a fate that beggared belief.

Ignis walked forward deep in thought. Noctis was a void in his heart that could not be filled. It grew wider and wider with each anniversary that passed him by. He was positive Prompto and Gladio felt the very same – there had been tears enough as they retreated from Niflheim - but Noctis had trusted him over any other. Noctis was his little brother, and Ignis supposed he had a knack for hurting his little brothers most.

Beyond there was still no trace of Prompto’s voice. The radio station was tuned to one of the audio dramas with a woman’s bold and overjoyed voice as her wife finally came home from a weekend away. In from the downpour, lost in her embrace, and Ignis almost caught his foot on a curb.

“Hey, careful,” a woman said, and she grabbed his arm without asking. “What are you doing?”

So startled Ignis forgot to shake her away. “I’m – I’m seeking my brother.”

“Your brother?” A suspicious edge took her words. “Who are you, exactly, and what’s with the scars?”

Ignis’ hand reached to push the visor further up his nose out of instinct, only to stumble when he realised. It made the woman even more suspicious. “Please unhand me. Is Prompto here?”

“Who the hell’s Prompto?” She asked, her face clearly furrowing with disbelief and confusion. “Listen, you better-”

“Hey,” Prompto’s voice rang out across the settlement. It was wickedly sharp and angry, angrier than Ignis had ever heard it before. Even in the shadows of the main road Prompto had been in cold control. “What are you doing?”

Caught between two voices, her hand tightening harshly upon his wrist, Ignis stammered. His brother’s presence was no great comfort. “I was simply-”

“Not you,” he interrupted. “You. What are you doing?”

After a moment’s hesitation her hand quickly released him. Ignis curled his hand around his wrist, rubbing feeling back into his skin. There were slight grooves from her fingertips. “I was asking him what he was doing?”

“So you grabbed him?”

“I…” She faltered and lost her intensity suddenly. “Are you Prompto?”

“Yes,” he said, voice shifting into a low and territorial hiss. “And this is my brother. Leave him alone.”

“Alright,” she said and took a step back. “Alright, I just – I didn’t know. Jeez.”

As she stalked away, she muttered under her breath, embarrassed and angry. Ignis listened intently with his skin prickling as her footsteps fell to nothing underneath the radio. Prompto stood in silence, no doubt watching her carefully until she was gone from sight.

“Be more careful,” Prompto spoke finally, voice calm. “People are too jumpy to see lone strangers walking around, even in transit settlements. Don’t walk around on your own.”

Ignis cleared his throat softly. All he could do was hope that Prompto didn’t hear how his voice wavered, still shaken. “Are you not walking around alone?”

“I’m keeping busy,” Prompto replied and Ignis could imagine him there, chin thrust high. “Fixing shit while we wait for dad. Get something to eat, go sleep. There’s room in the converted diner. Don’t get into trouble.”

“Trouble appears to find us easy enough,” he replied before he could think it through and Prompto didn’t quite laugh. It emerged as much more a scoff. “May I accompany you?”

“If you really have to,” Prompto responded and it was the most positive response Ignis could have anticipated. “As long as you remember what Cor said. I know these days you think you know better than anyone else, so you go ahead and do whatever you want – long as it doesn’t fuck things up for everyone.”

Ignis brows abruptly sunk. A defensiveness stood front and centre. “I don’t think I know best.”

“Then try being less of an asshole, and I might believe you,” Prompto told him, and left Ignis in the dust.

-X-

Hours passed without word from their father and the chasm in Ignis' belly grew untenable.

Prompto seemed to be used to his absence, or perhaps just coping as best he could. He kept himself busy and never enjoyed a moment of quiet. There was always something to do – pulling a guard shift, running messages across the settlement, fixing up cars or meals. Whatever tasks needed to be done, no matter how small, Prompto gave his all.

Ignis remained closely at his side. He listened as Prompto chattered freely with all. Some voices Ignis recognised and greeted quietly, and some neither brother knew. Prompto spoke fondly nonetheless, sharing gossip or giving directions and tips, little favours now and again. He aided one family in piling their belongings into their truck, advising the best route to their guide.

It was strange to hear how Prompto had blossomed. It was a far cry from the days of Zegnautus Keep where had pressed himself against Ignis’ side, shaking all the while and weeping softly. Ignis had wiped his tears on the long journey home. His own did not come for days, shocked heart left numb for hours.

This Prompto had bloomed in adversity and Ignis had not been giving the pleasure to watch. No doubt Iris and Talcott had grown so strong in the time that Ignis had been chained to their apartment and bristled still at the thought. But he could not blame the children.

Blame was a fickle, uncertain thing. It had burned Ignis’ blood enough for him to flee from the only certainty he had ever known in this world, but once he was alone it had surely begun to fizzle out. It left Ignis void with only a knot of doubt. That knot drew tighter and bigger as Prompto’s silence towards him seemed endless.

Out by the grand lake the air was cold and wet. The atmosphere was sullen and silent. But still there always noise, the sound of humanity striving, and Ignis grew to once again enjoy the sound of life around him. It was far more soothing than the howling of the wind and drumming of rain, the children laughing as they always would, and Ignis slipped away for minutes to call Iris, realising he missed the sound of her voice.

In Caem Ignis slept whenever he wanted. That had been often. Unplanned naps on the sofa had left him lethargic, muscles beginning to waste and a headache always behind his eyes. When Prompto set down his tools and clapped his hands it had almost made him jump, jerking Ignis out of a woozy, tired haze.

“They’ve made space in the Crow’s Nest for bedrolls,” Prompto said, and Ignis had not noticed the low drawl within his voice. “There’s bedrolls in the trunk. I’m going. You can do what you want.”

Standing alone in the midst of the settlement seemed a poor idea. Ignis followed his brother like a witless child, becoming his long-lost shadow. A part of him wanted to fist the back of his shirt, the way Prompto would often do to him when they ventured out into the wilds for the bathroom after a hunt, forgetting how long Ignis had spent trying to iron his shirt perfectly in last night’s motel.

A small crowd had gathered around the restaurant. Tired voices murmured and many yawned widely, trundling through in pairs. Prompto waited patiently at the back of the newformed line, holding his bedroll close. He had taken Cor’s from the car – bigger, and more comfortable, he had claimed. When Ignis had caught the familiar scent of Cor upon the fabric he hadn’t protested. In turn Ignis settled for Prompto’s. They hadn’t thought to bring Ignis’, so convinced that Ignis would not have followed them on this journey.

By the time the crowd had inched forward, a dozen more had appeared behind them. Before Ignis could encourage him Prompto allowed them to go first, and pride and sorrow claimed his chest in equal part. They stood in silence as hunters handed out spare blankets and water if needed, and as they passed the threshold Prompto murmured, “Thanks, Ani.”

There came no response that Ignis could hear. Prompto led Ignis through in silence and remained close to the sole entrance, dropping his things immediately by the wall. “There’s space to the right,” he said for Ignis’ benefit, and Ignis more carefully settled his to lay between the door and his brother. Prompto snorted but said nothing.

Many settled around them as Ignis slipped into his bedroll, cautiously listening as the room grew terribly loud. In such a small space there were dozens of bodies. It was cold with the door left open but warm bodies would be a great comfort, one that Ignis hadn’t known in a long while. Children were given blankets first, pillows against the hard tiles. Ignis turned down one offered to him politely.

It took a long while for the group to settle down. Some children still stirred and fussed. Their parents murmured to them and held them close. As the door was firmly closed warmth but an unsettling quiet took hold of his body and sleep was close at hand, though Ignis knew he would wake feeling no better. A restlessness had possessed him long ago and it could not be shaken free.

Shifting in his bedroll he turned to face Prompto. A late coming group shuffled by the window and they were kind enough to pitch their voices low. With each rumble of a car Ignis’ hope would peak but never come to fruition. Ignis wondered where each of his loved ones were in this moment. If they slept with an aching belly or heart, or if they slept at all. Cor fought, or even lay bloodied. Perhaps Gladio was due the same fate and Ignis reached out to grasp Prompto’s hip before he could stop and think.

Prompto had lain still and Ignis’ hadn’t been sure if he was awake. It was entirely possible that Ignis had abruptly woken him, but Ignis could not process any guilt. Prompto turned and glanced at him, expression probably cloudy or perhaps pinched. Ignis could feel the tension grow beneath his hands, solid muscle bunching. Prompto was leaner than Ignis remembered.

“What are you doing?” he asked, voice thick.

Ignis could not be sure. It was like his body wasn’t his own. Every joint was stiff, limbs heavy, as if he had woken from a century of sleep. “It’s cold,” he said uselessly and Prompto sighed.

It was a bare faced lie. Ignis grew uncomfortable and sweaty with all the bodies but Prompto still pressed up against his side, close to his chest. He even unzipped his bedroll for his arms to slip out, pulling Ignis closer.

Blond hair tickled Ignis’ nose. It was longer than he remembered. Amais had been the one reminding him to trim it down but Prompto never sat still long enough to give anyone the chance to intervene. It smelt like sweat and dirt and Ignis inhaled deeply, satisfied still.

The hand on Prompto’s hip slung wordlessly around his waist. Prompto didn’t move, a warm bundle of both sweetness and discontent, and Ignis let his eyes drift closed.

When Ignis woke seizing, heart like a stone and stomach roiling as he gasped, Prompto held him tighter, and didn’t say a word.

-X-

Two almost sleepless nights they spent, waiting. When the night was as its coldest and the roads silent Ignis almost lost hope - but his father was the Immortal, and no shadow could cast doubt on Ignis' unconscious belief. The faith of a child may lay dormant, but never breathed its last.

Ignis could do nothing but shadow his brother, taking in the state of the world as it came to him in bits. Strangers spoke of entirely destroyed roads from the blades of giants and arachne creeping endlessly amongst the wood. Hunters moved uneasily, reluctant to close such a vital road but they must for the safety of their companions. Ignis’s sensitive ears could hear their bickering and posturing easily. _Form a hunting party,_ one said, _the risk is too great._

_To who,_ another demanded, old and gruff. _To us, or whatever fool travels alone?_

Perched by the radio, tinkering endlessly, Prompto said nothing. Ignis knew he was always listening and tucking away any small bit of information for his father to hear. Life carried on around them and hunters came and went, each of them greeting Prompto. Some were warm. Others were distant, or even begrudging. Ignis was sure all of them stared at Prompto’s constant stoic companion. Prompto spoke dutifully as he introduced Ignis to each. _My brother,_ he would say, and Ignis wished he could see their eyes boggle at their differences.

Even as souls arrived and departed at a constant pace no word came from Cor. Ignis could feel the moonlight shifting as the hours passed before it disappeared entirely to indicate what would have been a sunny day. Ignis lifted his face towards the darkness. His visor remained high. Children here had not taken the scars well come morning.

If Cor were present he would have defended him from all second looks, all manner of insensitive comments. Prompto often did the same with a far more lashing tongue but Ignis could not be sure if he would continue. It was kind, he thought, but wholly unnecessary. Ignis had fought his own battles for years. Mere words from strangers meant little to him, but being held back by those he admired –

It was unbearable to say the least.

Ignis could sense the hours changing hands. Every car that came attracted his attention and Prompto would take pity. “Not him,” he would say, and each vehicle that hadn’t belonged to their father earned the radios he worked on rougher treatment. Ignis’ own shoulders grew tight as the deadline they agreed on drew ever closer.

Beyond the eleventh hour, a phone buzzed in someone’s pocket. Ignis felt nothing against his side but fished for his phone anyway, eager.

“It’s mine,” Prompto told him and Ignis paused, freshly alert. He listened for Prompto’s rustling, dropping the radio carelessly – and then, a blissful sigh of relief. “He’s fine. Just checking in.”

Ignis’ mood lifted immediately. “Is the creature dead?”

“No,” Prompto told him and tucked his phone away. “Didn’t say, at least.”

With every hour that passed, Gladio grew further away, or his corpse colder. Ignis strove to shove the memory aside and remain patient. It was abandonment either away – his father, or his lover. “That’s something, at least,” he murmured and earned himself a grunt.

Silence returned to them. Ignis wasn’t yet sure what was worse, well-earned ire or nothing at all. Prompto clattered and scraped and kept his eyes firmly down. Ignis looked to the stars that none could see. Both looked for answers that lay unclear, and Ignis supposed that they had both been looking in different places the whole time, without understanding that they were wrong.

The thought almost made him smile. To hide it he took a long gulp of water, waiting for the end, and slept alone that night when Prompto took a shift on guard.

-X-

When Cor returned to them, Ignis had only been awake for a matter of minutes.

There was a cheap mug of tea in his hands. It was foul and Ignis drank it for the warmth only. He stood outside by the windows of the Crow’s Nest with the bundle of his bedroll at his feet, wondering where Prompto might be. His shift began shortly before midnight and finished at six am but time meant very little to Ignis. Prompto had not joined him and nor could Ignis hear his voice.

Maybe it should have worried him. But Ignis had slept fitfully, alone for the first time in a week, and then the trucks came along the road to steal his focus.

Ignis grimaced against his last mouthful and listened to the gates pull apart. There were three vans, he thought, perhaps four. Each was as rattling as the last and every voice in the settlement fell quiet, perfectly on cue. All turned to watch and Ignis’ heart couldn’t muster up hope again. It was always dashed.

That old scratch was agitating his skin. It was indescribable. Ignis grew endlessly bored waiting and the worry merely complicated matters. A piscodaemon was no small feat and deserved no less than the Immortal but Ignis knew his impatience heralded the worst of him. That endless drive had been his downfall, he knew, the very reason of his flight from Lestallum.

Car doors slammed and raised voices called out to loved ones. It was a common sound and quick footsteps passed Ignis by, a stranger laughing. “Mom!”

There was a solid _oof_ as someone leapt into a man’s arms. Others ran to the trucks and Ignis wondered, lazily curious. Someone took the metal stairs down from the barricade quickly, feet pounding. “Dad,” they called, _dad,_ and Ignis realised it was Prompto moments too late.

Tea spilt to the ground in Ignis’ haste to join him. A flurry of possibilities flew through his mind. There was an urgency to Prompto’s voice, not yet fear but the potential froze Ignis’ blood. “Cor?”

He blundered forward and slammed his shoulder into a stranger. “A-apologies,” he said, and followed the sound of Prompto’s boots. They scraped along, probably threadbare. “Cor?”

“I’m here,” his father murmured, barely able to muster the energy and Ignis located him paces away. His door slammed shut. “Are the two of you alright?”

Prompto scoffed, newly at his side – rightfully returned. Already he spoke far easier. “We’re fine. More worried about you. You look like shit.”

“Took a pretty hard hit to the face,” Cor explained for Ignis’ sake, and pity was faster on the uptake. “Pretty bruised.”

“Your whole face is a bruise,” Prompto said, not unkindly. “Don’t you have anything to make it better?”

“Can’t fix this face.” It was barely a joke with no string of energy holding together his wit. “Not gonna waste a potion. Damn thing is dead and that’s good enough. All the revenge I need.”

“Do we have enough gil to get gas?”

Blowing out a heavy breath, Cor leaned back against the truck. A crowd steadily moved away, heading for food and a roof over their head, and Ignis could focus finally. “Well, yes and no. No gil, but one of the hunters is gonna fill up the car for us. It’ll carry us where we need to go.”

“Okay,” Prompto said even as he was unable to part from his reluctance. “When are we-”

Someone’s hand smacked against the side of the car. Ignis jumped, startled. “Now,” Cor said. “Gotta take a leak. Then we’ll be going.”

Relief overtook Ignis’ worry. They could claw back their time yet. But a nagging feeling lingered. “Don’t you want to sleep?”

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead,” Cor told them and no one laughed. When he spoke, Ignis could hear his wince. “Listen, I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me. I’ll steal a couple of hours at some point.”

“You could sleep now,” Prompto offered, reluctant to push any of them too far. Overconfidence or tired eyes could kill easily. “I promised I’d help Ani with-”

When Cor pushed himself off the side of the van he gave a barely audible groan. As he stretched something clicked back into place. “She’ll manage. She’s been doing this job a long time.”

The pace of life in this world was wickedly fast. There was precious time to breathe and Ignis didn’t care for rest. It was time to go, and he nodded his head. “Shall we,” he asked, and Cor took the lead.

Someone was messing with their car when the crossed over. They snapped the gas cover back on tight, dropping a new empty canister to the ground. “Hey, Prom,” a woman said, cheerily but just as tired as Cor. “How’re things?”

For the moment Prompto perked up. “Hey! It’s been a little while – thought you’d shipped over to Altissia before we’d lost contact?”

She gave a long, non-committal noise. She rattled around even further, pulling their car apart, and spoke as she tested the engine. “Stopped off in Hammerhead a while – needed to look into some weird activity. And thank the astrals I did. Galdin was lost only a couple of hours later.” An unhappy noise dislodged from her chest. “Shit moves fast. I know lots of people who weren’t so lucky. ”

Automatically the mood dropped. A thick cloud passed over the moon. “I’m glad you weren’t there,” Prompto said, always earnest, and Ignis recognised the shuffling sounds of a quick hug. “Thanks, Parisa. I’ll catch up with you sometime soon, okay? We’ve gotta bounce.”

“Drinks on me,” she agreed, and the scent of petrol and sweat brushed past Ignis’ shoulder.

Cor laughed when she was gone. “Making all sorts of friends, are you?”

“Helped me out with a nest of goblins a couple of months back,” Prompto explained easily, and Ignis remembered the old days when Prompto couldn’t speak to a woman without stammering and tripping over his own feet, let alone give her a hug. “Hey, so where are we going next?”

Each of them circled around to the car’s bonnet. Ignis’ hand traced the slope, finding even more nicks and dents that he hadn’t realised had been there before. The metal was stone cold. There were stains all across – ichor, or perhaps even blood. Ignis had hoped they would have had the good sense to wipe it clean if it were. “So,” Cor began, and after all these years a man like Cor didn’t need a paper map. These roads were as familiar as the lines etched into his hands, deep and winding. “It’s not looking good.”

Minutes and hours were dangerous things. Ignis had thought their days on the road had been unpredictable with creature crossings and Magitek soldiers from the skies at a near constant rate, but the daemons were unstoppable and capable of claiming settlements in mere moments. In the time he had isolated himself he had missed much – murmurs of abandoned settlements and daemons assailing parties of hunters as if they had planned the assault. There was only so much they could take, and moral was poor. Leadership was often of the opinion that lives were far more worthy than land. Rightly so, Ignis thought. But he wondered how long that energy would last. How far would the beasts push them back, he thought, with Lestallum as their bastion of light.

“We’ll be moving through the tunnel to Leide after all,” Cor continued, powering through his lethargy. It was a tough ask to shrug off. Ignis wondered when the last time was he slept longer than a cat nap. “We’ll be stopping off at Keycatrich first to ask around, before moving along to Hammerhead. After that-”

“South,” Prompto murmured, tone mild. “We have to drive south if we want to search everywhere.”

Something dislodged itself in Ignis’ chest. That was a feeling he had not grown accustomed to, and never would. Life was misfortune after misfortune, and none more so than the lives of all those who lived southward of Saulhend Pass. Galdin Quay and the surrounding rocky lands were long condemned. Those lands had been lost months ago, and concentrated efforts had been made to beat back the tide of daemons. But it had not been enough – and they had withdrawn to regroup and resettle, and none had been bold enough to organise a recuperation attempt since. Not even a man as brash as Gladio.

A creeping anxiety made itself at home inside the hollow cavern of his chest. “It’s still unavailable to us,” he half asked, half stated, and Cor’s weariness was infectious. Every passing moment was another weight upon his shoulder.

“Yes,” he said. “No one can go without permission from hunters, and at least a party of five.”

Ignis blew out a hard exhale. In the face of such information it had seemed a miracle Cor had come home to them after all. “Five? Truly?”

“Situations change fast,” Cor told him as if Ignis didn’t already know that too well. That was a lesson carved in loss. “Things have gotten worse, since. There’s been no word from Coctura for quite some time – her uncle has lost hope entirely.”

It was difficult to remember her face in the haze. That stung. She had a unique lilt to her voice, a sweet laugh that always ended in a snort and Gladio had leant across the counter with a grin, charming as always. She had laughed so much at his stories and jokes that she flushed a dusky pink. They had learned about Coctura’s estrangement from her uncle during their stays at the haven nearby, bringing her fish when Noctis had caught too many to eat alone. She was young – only a touch older than Prompto, and her loss would be a bitter one.

Hand settling over his heart, Ignis spared a thought and even a prayer for her safety. “Has… has there been no attempt to reclaim the land?”

“No,” Cor said, a mournful touch to his tone. “It’s too big an ask. We patrol the border of the lost land frequently – but no one dares to push forward. Frankly, I don’t blame them.”

A difficult silence remained between them. Ignis’ nostrils flared, and thoughts of kinder days consumed him once more. It was so easy to slip away. Sand between his toes and Gladio’s hand warm within his. Noctis had caught one of the biggest fish they had ever seen on those shores and they – and a cat – had eaten well. Coctura’s grin spread ear to ear and the grave was endlessly cruel.

As always, Cor had to shake it off. He touched Ignis’ elbow carefully. “We don’t have the time to waste,” he announced. “Time to go. I’ll drive.”

Ignis barely had the time to scoff. Prompto got there first. “You’re exhausted,” he shot back. “Get in the back seat and get some sleep.”

Cor’s could not shake the weariness away long enough to pretend. "Prompto-"

"Go," Prompto insisted with a hard edge to his voice, alongside a spark of affection, and Cor sighed.

"Okay," he murmured. "Okay."

Prompto hurried over as if concerned that Cor might try to cut him up. His father laughed a little through a raw throat and Ignis followed him, close at his heels. If Cor questioned him, he said nothing, ducking his head to squeeze into the back seat. Such a vehicle was not made for a man his size.

At his door Ignis settled his hand upon the roof of the car, thumb anxiously sweeping along the metal, and it filled him with a strange sympathy as he imagined Cor looking up at him – exhausted, sweaty, his father brought low.

Cor had not shared the tale of his battle. Perhaps they came perilously close to losing their father. Ignis knew Cor would never had said and ordered the hunters to never speak of it. The likelihood rendered Ignis weak, lost like a child.

Swallowing, and speaking hurriedly before he could change his mind, Ignis asked, "Can I sit here with you?"

An unfamiliar energy caught between them. Ignis knew it, in his own way. Or had known it – the energy of their bond, warm and loving, turned sour. But Cor exhaled harshly, shifting against the cheap leather, and he said, “Yes. ‘course you can. Yes.”

It was an awkward fumble to find his place. Ignis slipped inside and his hands could not find the door handle quickly enough. Cor reached over for him and the spike of anger was soothed by the warmth of Cor’s body over him, the familiar scent of his skin. It brought back a dozen memories of road trips in the car, even some where Prompto had been beside him in a baby seat, and Ignis’ wrath died before it could poison his tongue any further.

Prompto’s hands drummed against the steering wheel. “You ready?”

Cor’s seatbelt clicked solidly into place. Ignis didn’t bother with his own until his father reached over, silently threatening to do it for him. Ignis made sure it remained safe with a sharp tug. “Ready,” Cor agreed, and they set off in silence.

One of them cracked the window open for air. Ignis heard Parisa call out a fond goodbye and supposed Prompto must have waved back in turn. They inched down the gentle slope and paused waiting for the gate to open. Finally they were on their way again, back onto the hunt, and Ignis only realised the intense pressure that had built in his chest once it was relieved.

At his side Cor breathed softly as he leaned against the door.

"Thanks, Iggy," Cor murmured, halfway into his dreams already, and only when Cor was fast asleep and softly snoring did Ignis take his hand.


	5. Chapter 5

As the years of crushing darkness had shown no signs of reprieve, Keycatrich had been transformed into one of the largest hunter HQ’s in all of Lucis.

That had been surprising to Ignis, at first. Meldacio was spoken of as the cure to all of humanity’s ills, with Ezma issuing orders from her safe harbour while Dave branched out to maintain control and morale, the worst of the stem of daemons controlled beyond their gates, but with more thought Ignis supposed it made sense. The dusty plains that led out towards the King’s tomb may have been a dead end, with the coeurl nest that had once called it home cleared out with haste – but what lay within –

It didn’t bear thinking about. The sole remaining door that Noctis had left unchallenged remained quiet and still and that was what mattered. Under Ezma’s command they closed the tomb off to public access with a strong iron gate, a security checkpoint and a veritable army of hunters taking watch. Within the plains Ignis heard they had built upon the ruins of Keycatrich, the largest barracks inside Lucis that they still controlled. There were semi-permanent homes for civilians too, those that had fled Insomnia and Galdin but could not afford to travel as far as Duscae, and even a force of women had travelled all the way from Lestallum who strove to keep the power working. Floodlights lined the cramped streets, home built upon home, and families tried to raise their children in some semblance of normality.

Ignis thought the change was remarkable, and perhaps even overstated. From a small, sullen collection of travellers to a permanent hub of life, where people lived and worked rather than simply survived, and Ignis hadn’t realised how true to life the rumours were until Prompto opened his door and a wave of life paralleled into them.

There were so many voices. The young and the old, the delighted and the fascinated. No one spoke with anger. It was a small piece of Lestallum, a piece of home. But such a noisy place was poor for Ignis to take grasp of his surroundings, instantly overwhelming, and he hesitated a moment before opening his own door, listening intently to carve out his path.

There were dozens of people already, at least. There was smoke on the wind blowing from the east and worry took hold of his heart for a haunting moment. But his companion did not comment and the fear of burning homes and the wicked fire of a demon’s blade left him as quickly as it had descended, reassured once more. It was normal life for the first time in weeks. Cars were being loaded off to the left of the makeshift parking lot, boxes of spices and herbs. Ignis’ nose was keen and the scent of cooking food was enough to pique the curiosity of his belly.

As they had driven Cor had been sweetly silent at his side. Occasional snuffling breaths escaped him, a few muted and short-lived snores, but his body was still. Ignis toyed with the threads of his jumper’s sleeves, taking peace in the subconcious sounds, and now his hand rest on his father’s shoulder. The warmth of his skin beneath all of his layers was soothing in a way he would never admit to him, even in this moment of weakness.

“Father,” he began with cautious softness but Prompto hissed at him.

“No,” he said sharply and Ignis’ hand pulled away like it was scalded. “Let him sleep a bit longer. He’s exhausted.”

It was already too late. “I’m awake,” Cor said suddenly, mumbling and lost, shifting endlessly in the backseat. He stretched out so far his boots left a dusty mark on Ignis’ black jeans. “Is that…?”

“Keycatrich,” Prompto said with a surge of annoyance that agitated Ignis’ guilt. “Go back to sleep for a bit – we can handle this for you.”

Still Cor sat up and popped each of his knuckles one by one. “It’s alright. I’m already up,” he said even through a wide yawn. It was remarkable how Cor only needed brief cat naps to function, even at his increasing age. It was an observation that Ignis was wise enough to not share, but it was easy to forget that Cor was mortal, the very same as them. In the eyes of his children, he committed remarkable feats with no effort at all.

It was all he could do but trust Prompto with the lion’s share of observation. There was only so much that Ignis could sense in the voice, and Cor had rarely been the most energetic of men.

He slipped out of the car and held onto the roof in order to orientate himself, listening closely to each sound. Boots and gossip, wooden and cardboard boxes thrown carelessly into the back of a van. Cor followed through the same door and his hand chanced Ignis’ hip. “Business as usual,” he mumbled. “Haven’t seen any of the higher brass so far.”

Prompto cautiously locked the car door. The mechanism clicked solidly into place. “Suppose we can just find the seniors and figure it out from there.”

Cor sniffed. “Depressing when the seniors are always younger than me.”

Ignis laughed a little at the thought. It had been a difficult day for Cor when he realised Dave was considered senior at only thirty-seven. Both of them had crow’s feet in the corner of their eyes, a hard set to their mouths, and Ignis suspected he would look much the same should he ever reach past his thirties.

“Maybe stay by the car,” Cor suggested, and before the same frustration and weariness could set in he clarified, “Just for something to eat. Did you manage to get breakfast?”

Until it was mentioned Ignis had not realised. “No,” he admitted, and his stomach began to rumble as if cottoning on. “I’ll take a can. Eat on the way.”

Their bags were all piled up in the trunk. Prompto had been snacking intermittently over their time waiting for Cor, constantly swirling his soups and picking at sweetcorn. Food was rarely exciting these days. Prompto opened up the trunk and shuffled through their things, sighing a little. “There’s soup. Some baby carrots. Beans. Not much else.”

Ignis wanted none of it. What he dreamed of was a hearty streak and fresh greens. Even Wiz’s limp sandwiches would have done. “The carrots, please.”

As always Prompto pulled open the can for him and fetched a plastic fork. “Careful of the sides.”

“I know,” Ignis responded, a touch testy, and Prompto locked the car again without a word.

It wasn’t a particularly dignified look to wander around with a can of baby carrots, nor was it particularly tasty. Ignis didn’t care much either way. It filled his belly. They trundled along the dirt road and Ignis listened intently to the world around him. For a change, the habitants spoke of normal life – the radio show planned for tonight and what was on the menu. A man sat speaking with his grandfather and learned a careful craft, praised for his dedication. Ignis was one man amongst many and Cor lead them deeper into the settlement, passing under the shadow of some roof.

A gentle patter of rain began shortly after. Ignis could hear it softly upon the cover, made makeshift out of a sheet of tin. The wind caught his hair in his eyes, and he brushed it free out of habit. There was a gathering up ahead, Ignis thought. Prompto murmured something to Cor but it was lost beneath all the voices, the calls and shouted orders. Food was heaved by in boxes, dropped up in the clearing, and the rain soon picked up again. A gust of wind rattled the tin.

“Where are we going,” Ignis asked as they steadily grew lost in the warren of the settlement. They wound corners and passed through corridors, each tightly packed. Buildings were piled on top of one another and very few were warm, but everything was bright. Ignis could feel heaters and hear radios, could smell fresh laundry. The scent of food came from all around and Ignis left his can behind when Prompto pointed out a tin collection. All the while he pressed very close to Cor, unable to create a visual map through sound.

“Looking for anyone in charge,” Cor murmured. “Keeping my eye out for anyone I recognise. Hell, maybe Gladio’s even here.”

It was hopeful. But it didn’t seem likely. This place was far too public for Gladio’s liking – he was a sociable creature who couldn’t go terribly long without a friendly face but that had changed when Insomnia had fallen. He discouraged long stays in teeming settlements and liked to slip into the background of crowded cities. He kept his voice low and shoulders hunched, and you had to have a clever eye to spot him.

But Ignis would know him anywhere. He was sure of it. If they shared a room Ignis would still feel his electrifying presence, the call of his heart, but Ignis doubted that he had come here of all places. If he wanted to not be found, the business of Keycatrich and the familiar faces of Hammerhead nearby were bound to see him caught.

When they passed through unfamiliarity Ignis was caught in a buffering wind. A crossroads was left largely unguarded from the night air. Plastic tarps made a terrible sound and Ignis drew up inside his jacket, eager to escape the cold. As always Cor saw it.

“Come closer,” he urged and when Ignis obeyed he was drawn even closer yet. Cor ran hot and Ignis almost wished he could nestle against his chest again, small enough to never be noticed, to never have to fight. “There’s a campfire across the way. You should sit down. Warm up a little.”

He didn’t want to. He wanted to be the first to hear answers, but the warmth called to him. Even with his gloves his fingers had already gone stiff. A wicked night awaited them – days were rarely this foul. “Maybe,” he said reluctantly, and Cor guided him to the far left, across the crunch of stones.

A gentle heat began to warm his knees. Ignis’ jeans were thin, but his jumper was bracing, his thermals precious. A seat scraped along the dirt as someone tugged it closer and Cor sat with him a moment, hand on his knee. “We’ll be back as soon as we hear something,” Cor promised. “I’ll send Prompto to come and get you, or with the news, okay?”

It felt kind to be by the fireside. Ignis had forgotten how pleasant a campsite felt. He only wished he could see the flames flicker. But he titled his head up, serving Cor a serious look. _Don’t you dare leave me here_ , he hoped it said. “Hurry,” he urged nonetheless, hardly eager to be alone again, and Cor left with a squeeze of his knee.

Clasping his hands together Ignis leant forward to bask into the flames, a weariness claiming his heavy-lidded eyes. It was almost enough to lull him to sleep – Ignis hadn’t the time to shake off his sleep, having sat in the car for quite some time. He clasped his hands in front of the flame, murmuring nothingness to himself, and sighed low and soft.

All the while strangers came and went, and rumours spread untamed.

To them Ignis was merely a face in the darkness. Silent, head hung low, he pushed his visor further up his nose and listened to the bustling voices. No one joined him by the fire – strangers were a commonplace sight these days, but still never trusted – and they circled the open courtyard, chores of the day more pressing than the warmth. Laughter bounced, buffeted by the increasing winds, and someone took a moment to cast some more tinder into the fire.

Someone else cast out their washing across the way. Ignis could hear it catch in the wind, the clothing line pulling taut. A group murmured to themselves, snorting and whispering, and Ignis could barely hear. _The Marshal_ , a young woman said with suggestive lilt that wrinkled Ignis’ nose, _and the blonde boy, the son,_ and Ignis felt even worse. They laughed about newcomers to their gates, those they would never speak to but would admire or suspect from afar. Ignis cast their voices aside and shifted, seeking the distraction of another.

Guards trundled by as their swapped shifts. _What day is it again,_ one asked, exhausted to their core. _Is it Renfae’s_ birthday yet, and sighed when affirmation came. _She’ll be pissed._

Someone met them halfway. Weapons clattered at their waists and their boots squeaked beside the fire’s crackle. _Long shift today_ , a woman sighed, _and a little trouble at Hammerhead._

Ignis’ breath caught. He barely tilted up his chin, straining to catch more, but the woman lowered her voice. _Thieves,_ he thought he heard, and the group crept away to speak in private.

It had been a very long time since he had visited Hammerhead. A year or more, but Ignis had heard that it was a lifeline for all of Leide. More often than not Aranea had made it her base of operations, put off by the crowds of Lestallum who shunned an ex-agent of the Empire. That had ensured that it was in excellent hands with Cindy’s talent and charm and Aranea’s no nonsense, stubborn treatment. It helped that the two women had found all manner of comforts in one another, an unshakable bond that none had anticipated, and Hammerhead was fully considered their territory. Cor had never hurried over to save their souls – not with Aranea helping run business.

Cindy herself rarely left Leide, only occasionally stepping out to source parts or food when desperate, and Aranea bounced between settlements when called to action. Prompto visited often and had even chanced across Aranea in the field – and she showed him the gates that surrounded the shop and the beasts that prowled in the badlands, mutated beyond recognition.

Everyone had visited a time or two, but not Ignis. Cor didn’t like him going so far from home and Ignis’ mood soured to think of it.

With his back against a wooden structure, he allowed himself to sink down further, eyes closing. There was the smell of smoke cooking food upon the air and the carrots hadn’t quite been enough. An aching stole his chest and his belly, leaving him discontent, and left waiting yet again.

“Oh, Astrals,” A woman’s voice said suddenly, and Ignis wouldn’t have given her a second thought if she hadn’t of called, “Ignis?”

Looking up sharply he glowered on instinct. He drew back from the flames, newly uncertain. The woman stood across the way, where the guards had passed by, and he didn’t recognise her voice at all. A strong Leiden accent was overpowering.

He didn’t call out in response. He said and did nothing but stare, hoping that she might be cowed. Still, she came closer, senseless or unafraid, dropping a bag close by his feet. It was full of books by the sound of things. “Ignis, what are you doing here?”

It took too long to put all the pieces together. Ignis frowned up at her, rushing through his memory and each voice – and he couldn’t hide his surprise. He sat up even further and his face laxed. “Madhuri?”

She laughed breathlessly. “Yeah. That’s me. What the hell are you doing out here?”

He wasn’t sure how to respond. So many people had passed him by without a single word, thinking him a lost cause, and Madhuri had seemed a restless woman. What she was doing on the opposite end of the country was beyond him but Ignis could do nothing but gape at her. Out of all surprises, this was the most stunning. “What are you doing here?”

“I asked first.”

“I…” He shook his head and fought to regain his composure. “I’m looking for someone.”

There was a long, curious pause. Her weight shifted back and forth. “Looking for someone?”

Realisation followed later. Ignis grunted and could not tell if the burn was humiliation or the touch of the fire. “I’m tagging along with a group. Someone I know has gone missing, and I’m part of the search team.”

“Ah, I get it,” Madhuri said even thought her tone indicated otherwise. “How… how’s the search going? Can I sit down?”

Ignis had tried very hard not to think about their successes so far. It was a poor show and Ignis had vowed to himself he would call Iris each day for updates. But every time he was faced with Gladio’s voice mail he lost too much of that eagerness. He hadn’t called since Cor had left them. “It’s going,” he said finally. “And if you must.”

In order to get even a foot in Ignis’ door Madhuri had learnt to take full advantage of anything that wasn’t a direct no. She sat beside him with a gentle thump and he was grateful for her continued respectful distance. “Anything I can do?”

“Kind of you,” Ignis replied, not without earnestness. “Perhaps you have seen him. I carry no photos, unfortunately, but he’s unmistakable – six foot two, dark hair and light brown eyes. Tattoos-”

“The Amicitia son,” Madhuri said without pause, and he imagined her expression matched his. “Yes, I know him. I didn’t know he had gone missing – Astrals. You… you must be looking with the rest of your family.”

_The rest._ It must have been a long time since Gladio had considered them family, he thought. That thought stung – how far they had fallen, little more than ex comrades once their King had fallen. “Yes. They’ve gone to find whoever is in charge.”

“Oh,” she said, a touch helpless. Something tangled around her throat charmed. Abruptly Ignis realised he had no idea if she was a hunter – he had simply assumed. He knew nothing about her at all, and in face of all of her kindness, Ignis felt the familiar swell of guilt. “Well. I’ll keep an eye out, but I’ve not been here long. Just a few hours. I was just… surprised to see you away from Caem.”

“I’m sure you’re not the only one,” he said, humourlessly, but she laughed anyway.

“Well. I’m glad you’re out and about, I guess. Being locked away would drive me crazy, I think.”

“Mmm.” Ignis bowed his head and said nothing more.

A long beat of silence spread between them. Ever restless Madhuri shuffled where she sat, thrumming with an energy that Ignis envied. It was strange to be in her company again – never had Ignis asked where she had come from or who she walked with, and it didn’t seem to make any sense. When she walked, he didn’t hear dog tags collide, and she always visited alone.

A part of him wanted to ask. Most of him didn’t care, and he supposed was content to let her stew in silence, able to make up whatever dramatic story he liked.

She could never bear it for long. Less than ten seconds passed, and she said, “I guess that your family didn’t tell you about me if you’re not gonna tell me to fuck off.”

Ignis turned his head. Incredulity lead the charge. “I’m sorry?”

“About why I was visiting you,” she said, slowly. There was a clear hesitance and she paused again for a moment. Humming, she shuffled just an inch closer. “Well, I mean… maybe I shouldn’t.”

Suspicion prickled at the base of his skull. This was not a moment Ignis was enjoying. “Tell me.”

This time Madhuri inched back. Pushing the seat again the ground, it groaned in protest. “I shouldn’t,” she said again, wavering in her convictions, and Ignis sat up sharply.

“You’ve already begun,” he told her plainly and she mumbled, cursing herself. _Stupid girl,_ she hissed. “Tell me or leave, and I’ll find out from my father.”

_Stupid girl,_ she said again with a long sigh of despair, face surely creasing, and wiggled in her seat. “Listen, I don’t want you to be angry at them – this was all the best they could do, and they didn’t want you to be angry, just safe – but your family clued in where you were pretty quick. They weren’t spying, promise, but they were so worried about you, Mr Amais was in fits, that I…” She sucked her teeth, a sharp and serious sound. “I volunteered to come and bring you food. I’m not a hunter or anything, just a storeowner in Lestallum.”

It was a heavy load to process. Ignis’ mind struggled to keep up even with what sounded like simple information, and Madhuri took his silence as condemnation. “Hey, they just wanted to know that you were alive and had food. If you told me to fuck off twice I never would have come back, and I never told on you. Never said anything except telling them you were alive. It’s all I told them. Promise.”

With a creeping sense of something Ignis could not place, he leaned forward. “You were sent by the Marshal?”

“Well, I thought you’d be more receptive seeing me,” she said in an awful hurry, stumbling in her eagerness to throw him off her tail. “I knew having your dad turn up would have freaked you out, and maybe you would have up and left if you knew that he knew.” A horrible, reluctant sound escaped her, like she was deflating under his gaze. “Maybe we shouldn’t have, and I’m sorry, but – not really, because you needed the food...”

Ignis did not respond. Madhuri trailed off again and exhaled with a heavy sigh. “I guess I wasn’t thinking right. It was probably stupid, and you’re definitely mad, but… I don’t have any family out there myself, so I just wanted to help, and… whatever, I guess.”

Before that Ignis had been angry. But it was impulse, the touch of rage that came all too often. Ignis forced himself to use his higher functions, reasoning out her decision and Cor’s self-imposed silence – and her soft-spoken admission, tinged with regret and loneliness, led him to calmer waters.

There was too much left unknown to identify it all. Ignis was exhausted still, vulnerable where it mattered most, and in his new world Ignis had a special plan – ignore it, before it could get any messier. Clearing his throat, refusing to think of Prompto packing a bag of food with a lump in his throat and a heart full of questions, he rubbed his arms against the intruding cold. The fire sank lower and none made to feed it.

When he didn’t speak, Madhuri laughed humourlessly. “No one meant any harm, but I guess that shouldn’t stop you from being mad. Guess it was a breach of trust.”

Perhaps he should have been. Furious, or betrayed. Perhaps he had no more energy to be disappointed. “Difficult to say,” he said, packaging it away for another day. “I suppose it was kind of you.”

This time her laugh was a touch more genuine. “You’re welcome. I guess? Hope you liked the soups?”

Ignis had, but it didn’t matter. “I didn’t go to Caem for my own health,” he explained, on some strange impulse. He owed answers to no one.

“Then why did you?”

Such a blunt question caught him by surprise. Ignis drew back, freshly uncertain. “Well,” he began, and paused.

In the heat of the moment, it had seemed obvious. Now Ignis could not reach so easily into his past, unable to confer with the Ignis of even just a month ago. There was a fog around his mind that he come to know too well. It had obscured the first few tentative days after Altissia, with pain and lethargy rendering him bedbound, and the rage had claimed him after that. There was anger, and pain, and the need to lick wounds gone untended for too long.

There was something there, he was certain, and so he looked deeper. Reaching into his heart to find the longing for Noctis’ company, the boy who had been by his side all his life, and the need to distance himself from the only familiar faces he knew, solely because they were frightened for him, and made mistakes whilst lost in the chasm of their own pain and loved him still, enough for them to send him care packages, but never to intrude where they weren’t wanted –

It was ludicrous. If it had been Gladio or Prompto who had fled Lestallum, Ignis would have ripped the world apart looking for them, hauled them home –

But they had fled. Gladio was gone and lost, all without a single word to those who loved him just as Ignis had once done, and he had done a far better job of it. And Ignis still thought him the fool, the child, leaving people who loved and supported him, whilst unable to see the truth of himself in it.

A realisation was a bitterly ugly one. Ignis set his jaw and winced at his own self-absorbed delusions fuelled only by spite and couldn’t speak sense, try as he might. Awkward _ums_ and _ahs_ left him again and again. Mortification ran cold and sat ugly and Madhuri’s eyes were too much. “I needed space to think,” he finally said, and yet he had only convinced himself of his own truth. “My reasoning is my own.”

Madhuri laughed a little and Ignis no longer had the heart to be offended by it. There were larger problems and bigger things at stake than his dignity. Ignis wished he had realised it sooner.

“Listen,” she said through her smile. Faintly Ignis wished he could have seen it. “I don’t really know you. You don’t know me. At all. I’m not going to pretend I’m the family guru, but… I’m glad you’re back out here. I don’t think anyone should be alone right now.”

There were rules to that effect. _No one goes out alone_ , Cor had told them, with absolutely no argument permitted. Pairs of twos were the minimum and highly discouraged, but everyone knew that he bent his own rules. _It’s different,_ he would have argued, and no one had the energy all these years into a nightmare. None disobeyed - Ignis was second to break loose and Gladio the third. With fortune, they would be the only – if Iris had done the same, Ignis would have been worried to the point of sickness.

Both of them knew the rules were for their own good – to prevent the pain of loss, wreck and ruin, to save a tag lost out there in the wild – and in their arrogance neither of them cared.

A long, meaningful silence seemed to stretch on for eternity. The fire dwindled – Ignis could feel it’s waning absence – and Madhuri did nothing to feed the warmth. She shuffled her legs up to hold onto her knees, lost in her own thoughts.

Ignis wondered if she was alone here after all. A woman of her nature did not suit the loneliness, he thought. She deserved someone by her side and he almost succumbed to curiosity but shrugged it away at the last minute. He supposed it wasn’t any of his business and the can of a thousand questions from her he threatened open not worth it.

He nurtured his own guilt in the quiet. With his intention to make things easier on his own part he had caused a great deal of harm. Never had he doubted that his family truly loved him, he realised. All their lives they had protected and adored him. And he had repaid them with a fit of rage and a childish departure, inspiring Gladio.

Perhaps after it all, an apology was due, and Ignis would rethink his journey back to Caem.

Unfortunately, Ignis was never much good at admitting when he was wrong.

“I only saw your dads once or twice,” Madhuri eventually said, and her voice was softer now. Everything else had faded away. The world spun on but Ignis could not feel it underfoot. “But I spoke to your brother a lot. It was obvious he missed you and was desperate to ask a thousand questions about how you where – but I’d tell him you were safe, and he’d smile and say thank you. And that would be it. Hard as it was.”

Maybe guilt had been lying dormant in the pit of Ignis’ belly all along, gone unanswered, barely recognised. It twisted up his guts and Ignis looked towards his hands, shamed. “He’s terribly angry at me.”

“I’m not gonna pass judgement,” she said, and nudged his knee with her own very gently. “Just passing on what I saw. You can do with that whatever you want.”

It was difficult to swallow the lump that had built up in his throat. When he breathed, it was harsh and uneven, like he was close to tears. Ignis’ eyes burnt and he told himself it was from the proximity of the flames. “Thank you.”

When Madhuri sighed she sounded terribly tired. Ignis was sorry for all her trouble, yet another stranger in the middle of the Leonis family messes. Pity overtook the guilt in a moment of stark relief. “Listen, I should go,” she said, and her bag shuffled and dragged along the ground as she rose to her feet. “Will you be okay on your own? Are they coming back soon?”

“Ah,” Ignis said, pulled out of his own deepening thoughts, and shoved them away to deal with later. There was much he had to cope with when given the time. “Yes. Soon, I’m sure.”

That was all that needed to be said. Nevertheless, she lingered. An awkwardness remained that stretched on for far too long. “Maybe I’ll see you around,” she said and with the width and danger of the world, neither of them were convinced.

“Perhaps,” he said, not to be polite. He hoped so more than anything. “Good luck, Madhuri – and thank you.”

Despite everything, he was treated to her wonderous laughter, and then she was gone.

-X-

There wasn’t time to touch upon his increasing pile of realisations – he was not left alone for long.

Quick feet raced through the settlement just as Ignis finally let himself rest. It wasn’t true relaxation – his mind was far too fraught for that – but he thought nothing of the approaching storm until it was upon him.

“Iggy,” a hurried voice demanded his attention, and Ignis’ head jerked up. Someone scattered dirt and stones into the almost dead fire as they screeched to a sudden halt. They were out of breath and panting. “Ignis,” Prompto said again, remembering himself, and Ignis jolted alive. “We gotta get moving.”

All other thoughts were cast aside. “What is it? Has someone seen him?”

Without hesitation or apology Prompto grabbed his hand and pulled him up. “C’mon,” he said, ruder than he had ever been. He had always been respectful of Ignis’ new physical boundaries. Something had shaken him to the core. “Apparently he was at Hammerhead not long ago, and here just before – we’re gonna go. Now.”

Ignis’ mind snapped back to focus. “Guide me,” he said, and no longer saw shame in being dragged across Keycatrich.

Prompto was not unkind but he was fierce and relentless in his pace. “Excuse me,” he said briskly as they approached people or made their way through doorways, still safeguarding Ignis as well as he could, but gave rougher demands to _move_ if they did not budge. Ignis took many blows to the shoulders as they took hard corners and still didn’t breathe a word of complaint.

They met Cor halfway. “Boys,” he barked, impatient. “Back to the van. Quickly!”

They flew back as if they were hounded by demons, boots sticking within the dampening earth. Still it rained and the pace had only intensified, stealing their last reprieve. Each droplet was like ice against Ignis’ cheek as they left shelter. No doubt everyone stared – the Marshal in a hurry was never a good sight – and under suffocated stars they hurried, Ignis’ new lessons utterly forgotten. Hopelessness gave way to action and Ignis surged ahead of even Prompto, impatient.

Gladio was no ghost. A mortal man could not pass through the world with nary a footstep, and Ignis was keen to resume the hunt. Dark days would continue to pass him by but Ignis would find him.

What followed – Ignis didn’t yet know.

For now, the future beyond did not matter. Ignis shook the doubt away, dismissing the pain. It would only do him harm.

Ahead of them, there was the sound of heavy keys in the slot, and shortly after Cor sighed with newfound aggravation. “Prompto – I thought you had locked the car.”

Suddenly Prompto hesitated. His hand dropped from Ignis’ wrist. “Well… I did?”

Without another word Cor yanked the door open. The key had not twisted all the way. “It wasn’t. Prom, I don’t mean to lecture you and I know it’s easy to forget sometimes, but it’s really important. It’s vital that you keep it locked up. We can’t afford to lose anything.”

“But I locked it!” Prompto protested, aghast. His voice reached a panicked pitch. “I swear I did!”

“Don’t sweat it,” Cor said even through the tense line of his jaw. “Don’t worry about it. Need you to check the bags in the back – make sure it’s all still there. Don’t wanna be surprised when we’re vulnerable.”

“But…” It was no use. Prompto’s shoulders slumped, his energy sadly deflating. His voice trailed off uselessly and it became something painfully small. “Sorry.”

An awkward tension was not something Ignis had anticipated. This must have been how Andrej and the rest of Cor’s past companions had felt trapped between them all. He lingered a touch helplessly, caught off guard – but Cor grunted. “Sit inside. We’ll just be a minute.”

It was better not to argue, Ignis thought. Slipping into the backseat and buckling up, heart in his throat, he listened to the others clamber and clatter around him. It was difficult to sit and wait, unable to bear the new tension, and he prayed they would be quick.

Behind his head Prompto searched through the boot. Rustling turned to thuds as bags were tossed around carelessly and after a moment Prompto hesitantly spoke. “Um…”

So distracted with his own bag left by the driver’s seat, Cor paid him no heed. But Prompto stood up suddenly, dropping everything. "Hey, do you have the blue bag? The one with the soup cans?"

By the hood Cor sniffed. After a moment of searching, he hummed. "No," he said. "Did anyone take it out and put it in the backseat?”

"Not as far as I recall," Ignis told him, frowning. He cast a hand aside, eagerly seeking cheap canvas, and found nothing. “No, there’s nothing here.”

“Damn,” Prompto said, and Ignis’ patience only grew more and more out of control as they wasted precious time. Ignis shuffled in his seat, nails scraping against the belt, bursting with energy. “I can’t find it.”

"Prompto," Cor's voice suddenly said in the quiet - very calm, very soft. There was an awful depth to it, and Ignis turned his head, dread building. "Where..."

Their heads quirked. There was rustling and patting and the driver's seat groaned, adjustment buttons clicking as it was pulled too and fro to check every part as if something was lost beneath. "What is it?"

Through a rough, fraying voice Cor spoke slowly. “I left my katana and personal effects by my seat, out of sight. My bag is here. My katana isn’t.” He paused for a long, horrible moments where Ignis felt nothing at all, barely even his heartbeat. Everything paled in comparison. “Where is it,” Cor asked softly and Ignis’ heart crashed through his stomach.

Sitting helplessly in the backseat, breath caught in his throat, Ignis leaned forward and asked stupid questions, the only thing left to him. “It’s really not there?”

“No,” Cor said, retreating with a slam of the door. “So we’re missing a bag from the back, and my sword. Nothing else?”

There was fury like no other. He was furious. It was a rare thing that Cor let himself be angry in front of his children, even now, but there was a sub-zero chill to his tone, and a rage with how he marched over to the boot. Ignis turned his head to follow as Prompto began to bluster, and Cor shoved his way through his bags, searching with more urgency as he sought his precious – and only – weapon. All the while Ignis sank in his seat.

and the way he marched over to the boot. Ignis turned his head, hearing Prompto begin to bluster, and Cor shoved his way through the bags, looking with more urgency as he sought his weapon. Ignis sank in his seat.

He was positive there was nothing with him – no bags and certainly no katana. He groped across the seats just to be absolutely certain and kicked at the space beneath the seats. He found only a folded-up blanket, soft beneath his fingers. “There’s… nothing here.”

“Astral’s – fucking damn it all,” Cor hissed, coiled tight and angry to his core.

"I'm sorry," Prompto burst, frantic. "I'm sorry, I thought I had- I swear I had-”

It wasn’t a big deal. Ignis told himself that, again and again, but he knew it simply wasn’t true. The loss of a weapon could be damning, the point between life and death, and Cor had carried that blade for longer than Ignis had been alive. It was a relic from another time – another world, from how Cor spoke of it, and how attached he was. Ignis had not asked for the details once he had strongly gotten the sense that it was a world best left in the past. Not even Cor’s husband of almost three decades knew. But Cor cherished his weapon, forged from foreign steel and adorned lovingly with blossoms.

Ignis had envied it as he grew, and Cor had seen it plain as day. Though Ignis did not know what the story beyond the blossoms had been, and supposed it was Cor’s story to share if he willed, Cor had made it something of a tradition. Over their teen years Cor had patiently trained them with a weapon of their choice, gifting them on completion of their studies their chosen weapon adorned with the very same blossoms and the Leonis family crest. Elegant, sublime, and connecting them all no matter how far they had been apart.

Once they were in his hands Ignis had not let them out of his reach. They were always kept safe within the Armiger, lovingly cared for long before they could even suggest wear and tear, and Prompto shone his weapons as a nightly ritual while they relaxed upon havens.

They were a little piece of their family, a little piece of their history further lost to them, and Prompto knew it by how he cried.

“I’m sorry,” he wailed. It was awful and piercing and Ignis fumbled for the door handle, lurching out of the car entirely on instict. “I’m sorry. This is all my fault. I’m so sorry.”

Ignis ran his hand over the hood of the car. It smoothed down the harsh dip and he reached out, finding someone’s bicep. The muscle mass and how it shook indicated that it was Prompto. Ignis pulled him closer, standing shoulder to shoulder in solidarity. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Cor shot back, and when Ignis recoiled from him and Prompto sobbed all the louder, Cor exhaled roughly, grasping at his Citadel renowned sense of calm. “I know it’s not here. Just… we don’t have enough time for this. Let’s just get back into the car.”

He slammed the boot shut and Ignis found Prompto’s hand, lacing their fingers together without thinking. They were children again, small and uncertain, but even during their worst childhood mistakes Cor had never raised at his voice at them in anger. They were set adrift into an unfamiliar world and as Cor stalked across to the driver’s seat Prompto sniffled, scrubbing hard at his nose.

Ignis’ sympathy managed at last to outweigh his shock. “Come on,” he said as gently as he could, and Cor shut the door behind him. The engine came to life immediately after and Ignis tugged Prompto over, guiding him towards the back seat. “It’ll be alright. But we need to go.”

Prompto’s breathing was heavy and uneven. He clung to his big brother’s hand like he had skinned his knee in the Citadel courtyard, crying for his parents. He said nothing and Ignis opened the door for him, making Prompto’s head was protected from the heavy roof.

He took the other side and as soon as they were both clicked in Cor took off.

There wasn’t a single word. Prompto could no longer put his apologies into speech, crying softly and Cor was always one to keep his eyes on the road faithfully. They shuffled in the awkward silence and Ignis stroked over Prompto’s knuckles, guarded by their leather gloves.

_It’s alright_ , he wanted to say, to pull Prompto in close. He missed that. More than anything he missed their easy comfort, the way that they had laughed and smiled, and tonight it felt farther beyond his reach than even Noctis’ voice. Prompto was a million miles away, it felt, and Ignis loathed the newfound silence between them all.

Hammerhead approached, a promise of light and safety, but Ignis was lost in the dark.

-X-

Halfway along the final road Cor heaved a great sigh.

For a moment he didn’t speak. But Ignis’ ears had picked up, listening intently even as he kept his head down. Prompto went abruptly quiet and refused to make a peep, small and shrinking within his seat.

“I’m sorry,” Cor said, strained, and Prompto scrubbed at his cheeks.

The roads were smoother than any other in Lucis. Ignis knew they had been remarkably well kept, once upon a time, better taken care of the closer they came to the capital city. It was Cid who had made sure they were solid and safe, Takka had informed him during a quiet stretch in his restaurant, for testing out tire replacements. Ignis had appreciated the great care, but now the roads rumbled, and pieces of tarmac were destroyed underneath their wheels.

Still, it was an almost reassuring noise. Ignis enjoyed the rattling and the shake of the vehicle, subtle and familiar, and he had planned to take the moment of rest while he could. It never lasted for long, but in the shadows of Cor’s outburst he found no piece at all.

Prompto’s hand was still wound with his. They settled back against the creaking leather seats, Ignis cheek turned against the cool fabric. With his eyes drifting closed it was easy to pretend he was just resting with his brother in the backseat, Noctis at the wheel and Gladio snoozing or reading in the front, moments away from pulling into a warm and bright parking lot.

But the dream died when Cor clicked open the side compartment. He fumbled around for a moment but kept his eyes on the road, seeking something as Ignis switched himself off, and his father lightly swore.

“Astral’s sake,” he said, feeling around, and then said nothing at all.

Beads rattled over one another. Something scraped across the plastic base of the compartment and Ignis was comfortably dreaming of the blistering heat of Duscae and the waters of the lake soothing his skin.

Cor was silent a while, and then swore, and the already dangerous speed of the car picked up.

Within moments they were tearing across the unstable roads. Ignis started, blinking back to consciousness, the water at his ankles evaporating entirely. “Cor?”

Another violent curse left Cor’s lips, a snarl of rage, or pain, and Prompto sat up with alarm. “Dad?”

“I know what happened,” their father said, and Ignis could barely sense the lights of Hammerhead growing closer. It was vague at first but they tore across the roads, barely slowing as they approached, and Ignis’ darkness began to shift and fade. “I know where Gladio has gone.”

Ignis’ heart wasn’t sure what to do with itself. It lightened for a moment only to succumb to trepidation. There was something wrong. He was sure of it. But Prompto gave a strangled gasp and leaned forward, straining against the seatbelt. “What? Where?”

“Hammerhead first,” Cor grit, and said nothing more, and they spent an awful half minute in the grasp of helplessness and longing.

There was a strange mix in Ignis’ belly. It was drawing painfully tight and he couldn’t bear the anticipation, the curiosity of where Gladio had gone, why, and how Cor knew so suddenly. The passenger compartment was still wide open and Prompto tried to crane between the seats to see, grunting with annoyance and slumping back down when he could see nothing.

“Why Hammerhead,” Ignis finally asked and he had to clear his throat against a strangled lump. Even now he couldn’t shake the feeling of the creeping cold. “Why can’t we go straight to Gladio?”

“I’ll explain soon enough,” Cor told him briskly, and when Hammerhead was upon them he drew up to the gates, blaring his horn, and immediately got out of the vehicle.

Prompto’s fist struck the back of the empty seat. “What the hell?”

Struggling against their firm seatbelts and stumbling out of the van they followed close behind. Shouts of confusion came from beyond the tall gates, having to raise their voices over the still running engine. Prompto leaned over to kill it before they could waste any more fuel. “Dad,” Prompto called after him, incredulous. “What the hell are you doing?”

Once again, they were ignored. When the gates shuddered open after a delay from the confusion, guards hesitant but reluctant to shut the Marshal out amongst shadow, Prompto swore colourfully. “Dad,” he yelled across, seizing Ignis by the wrist and drawing him into Hammerhead.

It still smelt the same. Like oil and metal, like heat and musk. Takka’s place was long shut down and used for storage, though the man still happily called it home, and Ignis had forgotten the aroma of sizzling of burgers. Ignis all too often craved the memory of sitting with his loved ones, scribbling away while Gladio waited for the tune he requested on the jukebox. But it had changed, as everything had, and the gates were tall steel, every guard armed to their teeth and much more hesitant around strangers.

They closed the gate behind them, leaving the van after a moment of discussion. The guards were left confused as Cor swept past without a word to them, his children hot on his heels, but shouted their own orders. They could not afford to leave the vulnerable settlement open more than they could not afford for the Marshal to lose his vehicle.

“Cid,” Cor yelled across the courtyard and the scent of metal grew sharper as they approached the old body shop. Ignis stumbled over familiar dips in the road. “You out here?”

Metal rattled loudly and Ignis knew the shutters of the garage were closed. There was a door that led to a narrow hallway beyond, with stairs up to Cid and Cindy’s old apartments and a door that led into the garage. Someone burst out of it, bustling. “He’s sleeping,” Aranea hissed. “Quit it! What do you think you’re doing?”

Ignis winced. Aranea was one of the worst people they could have encountered. The tension was electric and Prompto surged ahead, ready to serve as both peacemaker and translator. Both Cor and Aranea often traded barbs, the Marshal so far unwilling to forgive the historic loss of life ensured by Aranea’s own hands in exchange for her apologies and loyalty, and it was only Prompto who could soothe the wrath of either side.

It was a side that Ignis had rarely seen from Cor. There was never violence but always wicked insults, the kind of cruelty Cor saved for those who truly loathed, but tonight Cor swallowed the worst of it. “Cindy around?”

Aranea clicked the door closed behind her. “No,” she said carefully, eyes no doubt darting between each of them. She was always good at reading a room. “She’s out with a crew. Be back soon, though, if nothing goes wrong. You wanna tell me what the problem is?”

_Can I be trusted with it_ , she meant, and Cor grunted.

“Need you to tell the crew where we’re going, and get word to Lestallum as soon as,” he said, the same old Marshal, always with a plan. “We’ll be out of range for Astrals only know how long.”

“Huh,” Aranea said slowly but absorbed the information quickly. Ignis swore she could adapt to anything without issue. “Right. Where are you going, then?”

“Taelpar Crag,” he said. “Near the gorge. But I need you to not come looking for us if we don’t come home. The twenty-four-hour rule doesn’t apply.”

Immediately her air changed, and it infected each of them to their blood, run cold. Ignis drew himself up, alarmed, and Prompto murmured something anxious and disbelieving to himself. Aranea inhaled sharply. Over their time together Ignis had been impressed at Aranea’s stoic edge, the way she could roll with any blow, but Cor had clearly asked too much.

Still, her tone remained all business. “What’s out there?”

“Gladio,” he said as if it were plain as day, and Ignis hadn’t even heard of the place. It seemed impossible that Gladio had hauled himself off to some scraggly corner of the map without a word and Ignis’ brows sunk deeply.

It seemed Aranea had the same thought. “Yes, I’m sure,” he said before she could question him. “I need you to tell that to Cid – but only when he wakes up, and don’t send anyone after us. Alright?”

It was clear Aranea was deeply unhappy. Still, she agreed, tone almost sulky. “Fine. What else do you need?”

“I need a replacement weapon – just a sword will do – and take a bag of our food,” Cor said, all business, and Ignis’ skin crawled.

_End of life business,_ Dave called it. The kind of business you needed wrapped up when you walked to your grave. Tragically practical and with no fanfare, only quiet acceptance and considering a future that you were not likely to see. There was no use in bringing too much food when you faced down the impossible. No point in hoarding what could be put to good use elsewhere, and no point taking too many good soldiers. It would be enough to get the job done, and each would say goodbye to those who loved them – if any remained.

“And take my tag,” Cor added, though still his voice refused to waver. “If you don’t hear from me in a week – make sure it makes its way to my husband. Please.”

“Dad,” Prompto croaked, strained and aching, and Ignis was not capable of a single word.

He turned his head to them and Ignis heard the familiar snap of a chain. Cor’s tags were new steel, his name and rank carved deep. “I’m giving you two the chance to leave now,” Cor said, every bit the father, edging ahead of the Marshal. “I will think no less of you.”

Out of instinct Ignis grabbed his own tag, pulling the chain almost too tightly. His family name was cold beneath his thumb. “I’m coming,” he said automatically. His chest was crushed beneath the weight of desperation. “I’m not leaving you.”

“It’s not a matter of leaving me,” Cor replied with all the seriousness of a fatal wound. “It’s more like… self-preservation. I’m not going to stop you coming with us – not anymore. It’s just not worth it. But think carefully – the both of you.”

“I’m coming too,” Prompto interjected without delay. The weakness of his voice was replaced with pure steel. “You can’t stop me.”

There was a harsh edge to Cor’s laughter, bordering on bitter. “I’ve not been able to stop you two from something you’ve put your mind to for a long time,” he said and Ignis wasn’t sure if the flutter of pride that brightened his chest was entirely appropriate. “Aranea – you might have to field a few panicked calls from my husband.”

It was impossible to read her tone. Ignis fancied she had furrowed her brow, arms across her chest. “I can handle it.”

“I know you can,” Cor said, the kindest he had ever been to her. “Grab me a sword – you know this place better than I do, I’m sure – and come follow us. Take our things, and we’ll be gone.”

After Aranea returned from digging around Ignis supposed they gave some sort of signal. Not a word was said but within three steps the gates were opening again, rattling and grinding like they were ancient. The flood lights were powerful against even Ignis’ closed lids. Aranea walked step in step with Ignis and nudged his shoulders.

“Long time since I’ve seen you,” she said with her own brand of sensitivity – very little – and Ignis forced a smile.

“And perhaps the last, if the dramatics are to be believed.”

She scoffed. “I remember you, in the tomb,” she said, and Ignis had never forgotten the sight of the ceiling, swaying and rippling. “You’ll bring Gladio back, and everyone’ll scold him silly.”

It had been a long while since Ignis had such pleasant thoughts. “Not if I scold him to death first,” he said, and her laugh was sweet but as hollow as his jest.

It was nothing more than a moments affair to make an exchange. Cans rattled together as she hoisted the bag effortlessly across her shoulder. “Take these too,” Cor murmured and passed over blankets and rolled up camping bags, personal effects that they had taken from home. Ignis ached to keep them, something to soothe his anxious heart, but didn’t say a word. “Remember, you-”

“A week,” Aranea confirmed. “I’ll tell Cid. He’ll want to know.”

A pregnant pause stretched between them all. An unbearable itch agitated Ignis’ skin. “Thank you, Commander,” Cor said. “You should return to your post.”

Boots scuffed against the ground. Aranea lingered a while and it was distinctly out of character. She was a woman of few words but she cleared her throat steadily. “Good hunting,” she said, and once she back through the gate she was gone without a word, swallowed up by noisy metal.

The future lie ahead. It was as murky as Ignis’ eyes, a path that he couldn’t comprehend. A part of him didn’t dare ask. But he must – and Prompto got there first.

“End of life business, huh,” Prompto said weakly, and Ignis was proud of his baby brother still. “Taelpar Crag that bad?”

“A difficult bit of business,” Cor mumbled and scratched through his beard. “I’ll not lie to you. You’ll want to turn around.”

There was no impulse that called Ignis back. He would find Gladio or walk forever tormented. It had been too long a dark to let another friend slip out of reach, especially in a place that Cor found so dismal – even frightening. A part of him almost didn’t want to ask, but he pressed forward. “What told you he’s there?”

A grumbling sound of discomfort left Cor’s throat, followed by a long, tired sigh. It was all too familiar a sound from him. “Prompto, firstly - I need to apologise.”

By his side Prompto’s shoulders sprang up. A wariness overtook him. “Why?”

“I shouldn’t have mistreated you, for starters,” he began, and rubbed apologetically over his son’s back. “But I know now you had locked the van after all. Gladio unlocked it, with the spare key he had.”

Caught off guard, Ignis’ jaw slacked. All this time, Gladio had only been minutes from their location. The thought was nigh infuriating. “Gladio?”

“He was close by. Airin – a friend of mine, second in command at the HQ – told me had had been seen only the day before and he was supposed to head out East. I didn’t think anything of it then, but I think he broke into the car to take my katana. It’s the key to get into the Tempering Grounds.”

None of it made sense. It was dizzying. Shaking his head, trying to ignore the buzz that settled into the small of his skull and crept behind his eyes, Ignis frowned deeply. “The Tempering Grounds? What does this even mean? How did Gladio know about the key?”

“I can only suspect that he overheard myself or Clarus talking about it, a long time passed, and has been sitting on the idea a long time,” Cor grunted, clearly morose. “I have some experience with the place, and we spoke of it only a few times, but… I know how dangerous it can be.”

An uncanny feeling lingered. Crossing his arms tight against his chest, hoping to relieve the cold winds, Ignis didn’t like the shadows that moved between them. “How dangerous?”

“Astrals,” Cor said as if to himself, as if unable to believe they had come to this moment. Ignis could relate. But when Cor took his hand Ignis jumped with surprise, belatedly letting him upturn his palm, and some smooth and cold coiled into his palm. “Bad enough for me to leave my tag behind, and bad enough for Gladio to leave his in the compartment for us.”

In the palm of his hand the weight was suddenly far heavier. Ignis gazed out towards Cor’s voice, his father’s rough hand the only thing he could focus on. As the wind picked up, sand cast over the roadside as surely as it slipped through Gladio’s hourglass. “What?”

Cor’s prosthetic joined to cup his hands. It encouraged Ignis’ hand to curl around the weight that suddenly seemed so familiar. Ignis felt abruptly sick to his guts, a surge of nausea lining his heavy tongue. Sealing his hand tight he clutched it, the edge of the tag pressed against his gloves, harsh against his skin.

“Oh,” Ignis said uselessly, “oh,” and could have wept himself.

But Cor’s hands sealed purposefully around his. They strove to bring comfort that Ignis could not acknowledge. “We’ll find him,” he swore, too determined to say _I’m sorry_. “I won’t be losing anyone else. I won’t let them be taken from us. Okay?”

All of a sudden his heartbeat was raging. Around him the world spun too fast, out of control and imploding from within. Ignis could no longer take comfort in the steady ground beneath his feet and a wooziness claimed his mind. “I don’t understand,” he said helplessly, lost in fate’s clumsy design and clinging to what was rightfully Gladio’s for dear life.

It was a bad omen. A dreadful omen, one that made certain Ignis knew that hope was lost. No hunter dared be apart from their tag too long, lest their body be left to become one with the earth, never to be laid to rest where their family could mourn peacefully. Gladio had never taken it off – for his sister’s sake, for his lover’s sake, and Ignis wondered what had gone so terribly wrong that Gladio had left it so clearly for them.

Where had Gladio gone without his faith, Ignis wondered. What shadows were deep enough to obscure even Gladio’s valiant heart? Ignis considered himself a man who would never waver. To fall was to know shame, and to condemn his King. Through pain and misery he forced himself to stand, forced himself to walk onwards. If Noctis was not strong enough, he would be. Gladio had been much the same and it was sobering that something had cowered Gladiolus, the brightest and bravest of them all. The scratching pain of doubt assaulted his own heart mercilessly.

Whatever Taelpar Crag meant to Gladio, it meant certain doom to Cor. The uneasiness lingered. “I don’t understand,” Ignis began, stammering like a fool all the while. “Why?”

Seeking to comfort his son, Cor’s hands braced his biceps. Ignis wished he could feel the warmth of his sure skin, and that his father was strong enough to tether him to Eos again. In this moment it seemed nothing could temper his fear. “There was something else,” Cor said, touched with reluctance. “I kept a picture in the dashboard. Always have, but it was gone. I can’t help but think… I can’t help but think that Gladio took it.”

By their side Prompto functioned no better. “What does that mean,” Prompto demanded to know, voice lifting and warbling again. “What’s in Taelpar that’s so bad? I’ve never even heard of it, all my life. What is it?”

There was a beat of uncomfortable quiet. Whatever it was, Cor was reluctant to speak it into being. “I thought I had managed to keep it from you. I’d hoped that you’d never know, but…” Shaking his head, Cor forced the weakness out of his tone. Someone had to be strong, he no doubt thought. Squeezing Ignis’ arm, reaching out for Prompto, he made to be reassuring. It feel flat. “It’s… tough to explain. Maybe… maybe we should speak in the car.”

With a sudden thump of coming back to reality, Ignis had forgotten where they were. Thankfully the world remained still and guards up on the ramparts politely pretended they weren’t listening in. Ignis shook his head like a dog to chase away his murky thoughts. It barely helped and only worsened his sickness. “Alright,” he said weakly. “Alright, can we – can I sit in front?”

“Sure,” Cor told him gently and finally his hand was upon the small of Ignis’ back as he ducked inside the warmth and questionable safety, escaping the worst of the wicked chill, and so lost in his own world Ignis almost missed his family’s voices beyond the shut door.

“Champ,” Cor called to his youngest and his tone was modest, shamed. Ignis listened intently through the buzz that filled his ears. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I got angry. I’m… I got stuck in my own head, and never should have taken out all the other stuff on you. I’m sorry.”

As always Prompto’s forgiveness came in nothing more than a heartbeat. “It’s okay,” he said, though his voice was modest. “We – we should go.”

“Rest up in the back seat,” Cor ordered and opened the door for him in turn. “Don’t be afraid.”

_Don’t be afraid_ , he said, like it was so simple. The fear had burrowed beneath Ignis’ skin. It was a cold sensation that Ignis had come to know all too well and it could not be shaken free. Ignis breathed out, fighting to tame the wilderness that grew around his stifled heart. “Shit,” he said, and behind him Prompto wheezed with his anxiety, two boys lost in a dark they couldn’t understand, seeking the one who had been swallowed up by shadow.

Even their father close at their side was no comfort. Their partner was lost to them, walking a dangerous path with a state of mind they couldn’t dream to understand, and the rumbling engine still could not cover Ignis’ fearful tears.


	6. Chapter 6

At the mouth of the hidden cave, a wicked and ominous chill made Ignis quake.

There was a whisper of faintest sound. Ignis swore he could hear voices carried on the wind – small, but never insignificant. They were the same whispers he had heard all his life. Words of doubt and shame that followed him throughout his childhood in the Citadel and through the survivor encampments cast in moonlight. It seemed he would never be free of them and Ignis could no longer bare his teeth, belligerent.

Try as he might to ignore them entirely, they failed to fade as the chill passed by. Ignis could feel a terrible energy that prickled his skin, standing the hair upon his arms on end. So far from civilisation, so far off the beaten path, there was no other noise. Birdsong was a thing of the past. There were not even howls of wild dogs in the distance. There was only dirt and rock beneath his feet and Cor and Prompto had said nothing, lingering several paces behind.

There was nothing to obscure the voices. Not even the steady reassurance of his own heartbeat gave him any kind of comfort.

“It’s time,” Cor said eventually, and only he cut through the murmurs. They faltered only briefly, bowing before his stern growl only to resurge within the gaps of his silence, winding around Ignis’ thoughts. They lie dormant for mere moments as Cor spoke again, unable to be scared away for long. “Ignis, are… are you sure this is what you want?”

“Of course,” Ignis said faintly, with no use for his simmering frustration. There was only faint curiosity as he looked forward, enthralled with an entranceway he couldn’t see. There was nowhere else he would rather be, and no more sitting idle. Gladio was within. Somewhere deeper inside Ignis knew, a funny feeling he couldn’t place aside – and talk of a Trial made too much sense to deny. “I’m not afraid.”

“I don’t mean to imply that you were,” Cor said – always patient, always fair. Ignis thought that his cruelty to Prompto hours before had shaken him deeply. “It’s a tough terrain. It’s dangerous. I won’t risk losing you just because you didn’t want to change your mind.”

Turning away from the cave since the first time since they arrived, Ignis tilted his head. There was a gnawing feeling that he shouldn’t have turned his back, and Ignis looked back toward the darkness for a second longer. Maybe it the stress – maybe it was the lack of sleep, but Cor was just above the foul whispers. Ignis shrugged it away. He had too much to worry about.

Further beyond there was Prompto’s soft panting, breathless from a few minutes of speed walking. There was the familiar creaking of leather, enough to settle his nerves. A renewed sense of confidence – perhaps unearned – soothed him at the sound. Ignis would cling to any bravery.

“I’m coming,” Ignis told him and left no room for argument. “I won’t stay behind.”

If Cor disagreed or passed any judgement Ignis was not to know. “Alright,” he said. “We don’t have any time to waste – so stick with us, okay? It’s going to be complicated to say the least.”

Nothing was easy. As if Gladio was ever going to let things be simple and the thought almost made Ignis laugh. “I’m ready for anything,” he asserted.

Turning back to the cavern as Cor addressed Prompto low enough that Ignis couldn’t hear, he faced down a place of despair – a place of death. The Tempering Grounds, home to Gilgamesh, and Ignis had felt a shiver as Cor had driven, telling the story haltingly, making it clear it was not a topic he easily spoke of. Despite his best attempts, Ignis had faintly recognised the name. So long ago, Ignis could not remember the details or the king Gilgamesh had served, but he was one of the first Shields to walk Lucis freely. Heavy tomes that Ignis delved through from an early age – too early, some said – focused upon these caves and the creature that lay within.

_A daemon_ , some said. _A wicked spirt cursed to wander,_ one claimed. All knew that it was a danger beyond comprehensions. Hundreds of soldiers had lost their lives protecting dozens of scholars, bones and swords left behind, and Gladio was set to join them if they didn’t move quickly.

It didn’t bear thinking about. Gritting his teeth he stepped forward, hoping to get a sense of how steep the entrance dropped and not intending to go far, but the phantom whispers picked up within his mind. They filled his ears and skull and Ignis breathed unsteadily, attempting to decipher their words, but they remained beyond his reach. Someone laughed, Ignis swore. Another hissed, and Ignis’s blood ran cold.

_Can you hear them,_ he wanted to ask. Would they think him insane? Was it simply a memory? Ignis no longer trusted his own mind, and someone grabbed his wrist. The hand was small but strong and Prompto said, “Don’t go without us. Let dad go first.”

It made sense. Cor had shared with them that he knew the caverns in some way and knew what to expect and Ignis had barely been able to put the lid upon his curiosity. Prompto seemed to vibrate with the same eager energy, curious beyond words. Ignis bided his time, hoping he would learn more with time.

“I wasn’t going anywhere,” Ignis told him, a snap borne of impatience, but regret came soon after. He pursed his lips and sighed. “Apologies.”

“Just stop fighting to run ahead,” Prompto told him, and let go as quickly as his hand had come.

When the passed into shadow it would go colder. Ignis prepared himself for the worst, huddling closer to Prompto and pinching his shoulders together. A chill wind pierced him, and the unknown depths would be all the worse. Pulling his gloves back across his wrist to further protect his skin he considered fetching his visor and protecting his eyes.

He wished again he could see the sky if it were to be the last time. But maybe he was better off ignorant and remembering how it had once been.

Only one comfort remained to him now. The ebbing heat of Prompto’s skin against his wrist left a longing he couldn’t shake.

Resigning himself to death or an awkward reunion, where Ignis wasn’t quite sure which was worse, Ignis remained rooted to the spot, waiting. “Is there anything,” he asked. “Any sign that Gladio is here? Or has been?”

“Not yet,” Cor said reluctantly. “No footprints. No car on the way in. Nothing.”

Ignis exhaled harshly. Despite it all, it didn’t shift the determination in his chest. For anyone else Ignis might have questioned if he were truly here, but Gladio had walked this path. He was sure of it. “We should hurry.”

While Cor hummed in agreement, he made no move to act. “Can I take your arm?”

Ignis gave him a sharp look. “I can walk on my own.”

“I know you can,” Cor replied, steady. “The path is rockier than you might think. I remember this place as if I faced Gilgamesh only yesterday – I remember almost losing footing myself.”

Ignis crossed his arms against his chest, attempting to cling to the last of his heat. It slipped away all too easily as they sank into shadow together. Ignis’ leather jacket was no longer thick enough to protect him from the worst of the night. The weight and cold touch of Gladio’s tags thrown around Ignis’ neck seeped between the fabric. “How deep is it?”

“Deeper than you think,” Cor said, deadly serious. “If you want to come with us, you have to stay by my side. I won’t hear any argument.”

Ignis surveyed him a moment longer. An edge had entered Cor’s tone – one that Ignis had heard rarely. It told him no argument, on pain of being benched and disciplined in whatever way the Marshal chose. It was only directed to those under his command.

Many thought the Marshal was a hard ass. Many more found him frightening and those ideas had only cemented themselves as Cor became seen as the de facto leader of Lestallum, practically de jure. But Cor was gentle where it counted most, forgiving with those who struggled. He was a mentor to those who needed guidance and protector of the vulnerable. Tutors and fellow pupils always joked about Cor’s household being run like barracks, filled with little soldiers, and Cor would say nothing. But his expression would crumple without fail, brows sinking deep, and Ignis wouldn’t understand why until he was older.

During the walk home from his lessons Cor would gently take his hand. No matter the state of Ignis’ grades or his reported behaviour Cor would treat him to whatever he wanted – his favourite meal, his favourite snacks, all hand in hand. He would even let Ignis sit up an extra hour and Ignis would lay against his father’s side, tangled in a blanket, and barely remember being carried upstairs and tucked in tight once their movie was finished. A kiss would flit across his forehead, and Ignis would know he was safe.

Cor didn’t raise them as soldiers. He raised them as his sons alone. People, not weapons, even as they graduated high school and began to study more intensely for the Crownsguard. Their home was warm and loving. The teachers joked of martial law and strictness, harsh discipline – abuse, and Cor hated it.

This tone came very rarely. And Ignis snapped to attention on impulse, listening keenly. There would be no room for error and no room for sidestepping the rules. Still, Ignis tried his luck. “What if-”

“You’ll be by my side always, or you’ll be left waiting.” Cor told him, terse. “No argument.”

Ignis fell back into silence. Like a child scooped away from a busy city road when he knew full well to wait, but there was nothing he could do. “Very well,” he said, and tried to understand that Cor could feel the cold too – perhaps even sharper.

“Come on,” Prompto said after a beat, and ghosted past Ignis’ right shoulder. “We’ve not got a lot of time.”

Together they walked into uncertainty.

Cor slipped his arm in Ignis’ a moment later and Ignis had not known how tense he had grown. Every muscle was pulled tight and he moved slowly for Ignis’ benefit. Impatient, belly in knots, Ignis pulled him ahead. Immediately the ground began to slope, and Cor grumbled, clearly unhappy. A sense of something oppressive came over their shoulders as Ignis felt the cavern begin to yawn over them. Ice cold droplets of water struck his forehead and nose.

Foul winds came colder, louder, and Ignis tried to kid himself that there were not whispers on the winds.

It was akin to walking over a grave. Forbidden, gut wrenching. Ignis had never felt so unwelcome, even in the presence of gods and plundering tombs of long dead royalty. He wondered what Gladio had thought and felt. Surely, he had considered turning back, thinking of those who sought him, but Ignis had doubted that his family searched for him for too long. It was easy to imagine that Gladio had fallen to the same pitfall.

Cor’s arm was a comfort. Prompto carelessly scattered rocks as they ventured steadily down. Every rattle helped Ignis map the rough width of the cave as he walked, basking in the echoes. It was even bigger than even his overactive mind thought. Wide and tall, littered with stones, and Ignis knew it was crushingly dark. He could sense no light. What little came from the moonlight soon slipped away.

When he took a deep breath, the chill scalded his nostrils. It smelt of nothing in particular. Bland like water, cold as ice. Ignis kept his pace even as the ground grew uncertain and rough, as Cor’s silence brought him confidence. Curious, he reached out a hand in an attempt to find the wall. Nothing met his fingertips no matter how hard he strained.

Cor noticed. “It’s somehow even bigger than I remembered,” he murmured, half lost to the memories Ignis yearned for him to share, but Ignis’ curiosity shrank away from his tone. There was something ugly, an edge of pain.

Before Ignis could think too deeply he could feel the cave begin to shrink. Shortly after Cor pulled at his arm very lightly, the other arm settling around him to jostle him along. “It gets tight here,” he said. “You’re going to have to duck.”

Guiding Ignis with great care, Cor let him feel along the wall, trailing his hand to feel for the gap. It was barely enough to fit a grown man. Noting that it stood up to his collarbones Ignis ungracefully crouched, shuffling through for a few seconds before the tunnel opened up again, only a little wider but creeping back out. Ignis dutifully waited for his chaperone, unhappy at the prospect but sating his curiosity with his own hand, finding a stalagmite again his hip. Ignis found himself grateful for his fine leather gloves – the cold still managed to pierce them. His flesh began to prickle.

Prompto wormed his way through first. He panted with the effort and made sure Ignis remained steady, hand at his elbow. “It’s really dark,” he complained with a hint of worry, and Ignis didn’t chase the joke.

“It’ll brighten up soon.” Cor told him, grunting. With his height and width, he carried the most trouble through. “Can you take Ignis’ arm? It’s safe, but the path will wind all the way along.”

There was a brief blow of air from Prompto’s nostrils but he held on without argument. His hands were so much smaller than his father’s. They weren’t as strong, but still possessed great force. Ignis couldn’t relax into them and kept himself steady, wishing he could watch Prompto’s expression. “What does it look like,” he asked, hopeless and wanting.

Prompto grunted. The noise rebounded in the tight space and his voice was heard twice. “Too dark to see much. But the walls are winding – floor is steady, but I’ll have to walk ahead. You just follow me.”

Hand in hand was still too much. Even Gladio’s large and warm hands had been patronising amongst Lestallum’s markets, worse than even his cane. Ignis had striven to walk alone even while his wounds were raw, and his family hadn’t liked it. They had liked his determination to relearn his blades even less. “Thank you,” he said politely, hoping for a small turn of affection, and Prompto was silent.

He supposed it was what he deserved, even if it stung.

“You walk ahead,” Cor ordered, and a flash of light brought sparks against Ignis’ vision. “Prom – take this light and keep going. Be careful and keep your eyes forward. I’ll follow close behind – just in case.”

With a great deal of faith that Ignis could not afford he waited for Prompto to move first. His brother took small steps – out of uncertainty or for Ignis’ benefit, he could not tell – and pulled him side to side as the cavern walls curved and tightened. Ignis’ shoulder dragged along the jagged wall and he pinched his shoulders in to walk more carefully, listening past the sound of their scattered footsteps.

There was little past their breathing. Perhaps the whispers had merely been the wind after all. Ignis had not slept well. It was easy enough to mistake the two, he thought, and the wind was terribly loud through the wavering corridor of stone. Dreams slipped over into his reality and Prompto seemed to not hear the words that Ignis could barely piece together – he swore he could hear his own name at times, and laughter that made the hairs upon the back of his neck stand on end.

Cor was cautious behind him. Ignis did not understand why. The drive towards Taelpar Crag had been long and fraught, their vehicle struggling over uneven ground and the radio cutting out only a few minutes into an hour or so’s drive. None would dare walk such a path. Nothing would follow and yet Cor carried his borrowed blade forward, breathing so quietly that Ignis could barely hear.

Even here, after all of this, there was something he refused to share with them. Honesty was something they had long lost, but the anxiety his silence brought scratched incessantly at Ignis’ bravery. Yet it never faltered, and Ignis kept his dagger carefully within reach.

After a moment Prompto’s breath caught in his throat. “There’s light,” he called, and his voice bounced. “Gladio-”

Ignis’ heart leapt but Cor dashed their hopes before they could fly. “It’s not Gladio,” he said, not unkindly. “There are torches mounted onto the wall. Magic keeps them always burning.”

That was advanced magic. Ignis had not seen it’s like outside of the Citadel. Even with the King’s magic loaned to him, his source pressed against his side and shivering in glacial temperatures, Ignis could not keep his sagefire for all eternity. It required his focus and frequent renewal. “How?”

“I don’t know,” Cor replied and there was something clipped about his voice. “Keep moving.”

They squeezed through the last of the tunnel together and Ignis could finally sense the light. It cast shadows across his sightless eyes, and he could feel the warmth of distant fire brush his cheeks. It wavered and Ignis didn’t understand – his sagefire was unnaturally cold and the torch felt like genuine fire, given life by something Ignis had never even read about. The world bore many mysteries, he knew, and he yearned endlessly to know them.

They came to an opening. When Prompto mumbled it bounced, indicating a far more open space, and Ignis could no longer find the wall. “Shit,” he said, and there was something like anxiety in his tone. “Dad – there’s – there’s people, what’s-”

Without a word Cor pushed himself past them both. Ignis wavered, his shoulder caught and half spinning into the wall, and Prompto made quick work of steadying him.

"What is it," Ignis asked, impatient and curious, incensed by their power their silence brought, and Prompto breathed unsteadily. Like he was close to tears and Ignis drew up to his full height, hands anxiously twisting, and demanded, "What is it?"

Whatever it was Prompto struggled to put it into words. He stopped and started again and again, fighting against a lump in his throat. "Corpses on the floor, and – and Gladio's sword," he said, and Ignis' world shrank down to one incomprehensible point. "It's - it's -"

Instantly Ignis splayed out his hand. It met nothing but cool air. "Where?"

"It's in the ground," Prompto explained. "There's - oh, there's -"

They walked him forward carefully. Their steps were miniscule and Ignis' impatience reared its ugly head, thrashing and demanding and fuelled only by fear, and Cor's hand guided Ignis'. "Here," he said mere moments before rough leather met his palm, and Ignis' hand curled assuredly around the pommel of Gladio's blade. It bore the band wrapped around the base, worn ochre leather and Ignis exhaled harshly.

It was cold to the touch. Ignis' hand swept up and down the blade, dangerous metal against his vulnerable skin. On his third pass his fingers met something that clattered, something light against steel, and Ignis' mouth parted softly.

"What's that," he asked even as he sought his own truth. Small beads were smooth against his fingertips and his nails scratched, finding a long string that ended with a cross, and his heart sank like it was wrapped around a bullion and cast into the merciless sea.

Ignis knew all too well what it was. It felt like a blade slipping between his ribs, sinking deep and tearing beyond repair. He fumbled for the necklace and struggled to yank it free, unwilling to break it but desperate to have it within his hand.

"Wait," Prompto urged him, and captured his anxious hands. "Wait - give it a moment, hold on-"

Ignis tugged hard enough that the thread almost gave in. Prompto stopped him with seconds to spare before it tore and sprayed beads across the floor and Ignis lost track of his hands as he unwound the thread, roped around the around the pommel twice. "Here," he said, and his own voice quivered. He set the beads within Ignis' palms. "I - I don't understand, why would he leave it? He never goes anywhere without it. And his tag, too – and his sword. He can’t be unarmed?"

Beyond his shoulder Cor watched closely. His hand settled protectively over Ignis' side and he leaned in, smelling of sweat and skin. He said nothing and only sighed, nostrils flaring wild like this was to be expected, and he was disappointed.

For the first time in months, Ignis looked to his father for guidance. "What does this mean," he asked, letting the polished beads slip between his useless fingers, and grew agitated when only silence met him. "Father?"

Around his own neck, his silver skull had become an even heavier weight that the pair of tags. It had never been so crushing before. They had been given such precious gifts the year they had become teenagers, a symbol of their vow expected to be sworn to Regis but gifted by a young Noctis out of affection alone. Gladio and Ignis had both understood the weight - far earlier than their young prince. In response they had never removed the necklaces that marked them as honorary Crownsguard.

Gladio wore his in the training room showers and underneath his uniform, while he slept and during formal ceremonies alike. One day when it was torn in practise hand to hand he had been distraught, and it was Ignis who had made it whole again - threading it all back together and providing a secure clasp. Gladio had been so grateful, and Ignis basked in his beaming smile, the feelings he had not yet recognised nurtured.

They went nowhere without their cherished gifts. It was their private dog tags, their vows carried always, and Ignis choked around his fear.

It had been cresting all this time. From the first knock upon his door it had lay dormant, a promise of despair to come. It gathered and built as they left settlements with no clear answers or direction, often without his awareness, until it threatened to become consuming. A black star harnessing the last of his energy. And Ignis was drawn into the terror, his hands desperate and eyes wild.

"I don't understand," he burst, voice fleeting. It filled the cavern and could have woken the dead at their feet. "Why - what is he doing here? Why has it come to this? I don't - I don't understand."

Not even Cor's hand could console him. It had been his saving grace. A father's comfort was all he had ever wanted, striving for it day after day, and Cor had always been free with his affections. Ignis should never have shouldered him away. Everything it had led to was Ignis’ fault entirely, he thought.

Unable to fight it any longer, he slumped into Cor’s touch. Prompto's own hands trembled around his, caught around Gladio's cross, afraid again. "I don't understand," he repeated, and Cor could do nothing. Each of their hands met the polished wood.

Cor nosed his way against Ignis’ greasy hair. If the smell bothered him he didn’t breathe a word about it. “I’m sorry,” he said, morose and solemn. "To find the truth, we have to keep moving. We have to bring Gladio home. Can you do that?”

It hurt more than Ignis could put in words. Like a great weight upon his ribs and ice overwhelming his bones. Gladio would be a spectre for all his life, Ignis thought, something unable to shake free. The pain slowed his heart and the confusion frazzled his mind.

Gladio bore a duty. Both of them carried it close to their hearts and had sworn their bond would never interfere. And yet Gladio had come here – if Noctis had returned he would find both Advisor and Shield absent, chasing after one another as if they were children on the playground. It made no sense. If this cavern were so dangerous, and if Gladio was so convinced he would meet his end –

Had Gladio abandoned the fate chosen for him for some grand test, Ignis would not understand. An Amicitia performed their duty over all else, over their heart and their own wants and needs. It had been quite some time since they had spoken of their duties – Ignis always threw his own in Gladio’s face during their disagreements, and Gladio never responded well.

In a way Ignis supposed Gladio was desperate to not lose everyone he cherished in the cogs of fate. Gladio’s birth right was not as cruel as Noctis’, but there was still unique suffering in knowing your life was the price of another man’s fleeting mistake. And there was pain yet in Ignis’ private knowledge, knowing that Noctis’ life would be claimed if Ignis did not wait for him and strive against the tide.

An awful doubt nagged him, Gladio’s tags a sledgehammer against his chest and his necklace a freezing shock. Maybe this was the end – of them, or of Gladio.

Ignis closed his eyes against his tears. "Yes,” he said, and cleared his throat against the squeak. “Yes. I can. Yes.”

There had been enough prices paid. Ignis would find Gladio’s anger, or his corpse. Either way Ignis would know where he stood.

Uncertainty made Cor pause. “Ignis – I-”

_Don't. Please, don't._ "We must press forward,” he said, and for the first time he realised that he was upon his knees. The dirt beneath him ground against his jeans, leaving mars in his flesh through the tears. Even casting his mind back, he could not be sure when he had fallen, nor the hands to surround his shoulders, clinging on. “Just… lead me forward.”

There was no power left in Ignis' baritone. Each word was wavering and weak. Cor’s prosthetic remained gentle and brushed his arm as carefully as the first touch of gentle rainfall. "Are you sure," he asked.

There was nothing left that Ignis could be certain of. Defeat and helplessness in the face of the gods brought him down low, confidence abandoning him in droves. When he nodded it was heavy, head low and pathetic. “Help me save him,” he asked, and even Cor’s legendary hands shook.

“Alright,” Cor promised, and brought Ignis steady to his feet once more. “Come on – we’ll need to hurry.”

-X-

They walked for what felt like forever.

The constant slope began to relieve and flatten back to solid ground as time trawled by. And the cavern widened around them still, grower greater and greater in width and depth and Cor hesitated more and more with each step deeper. Prompto still walked boldly, brimming with youth and curiosity. Now and again he would give a great sigh of awe, witnessing beauty that Ignis could not, and he was not yet certain if his sightlessness was a curse or blessing.

Even as Ignis’ depression settled in his curiosity still fuelled him with energy. That would remain until his dying day, he hoped – fascination kept a man going.

_You're too curious for your own good,_ so many told him, accompanied by sneers and laughter. But Amais had spoken it kindly, with a wide smile, and let him explore the word however he wished. Even if Ignis lumbered home with skinned knees or a missing jacket Amais would pick him up again, dust him off, and send him back out with a snack when he was good and ready. That was what he needed most. A cautious eye but the freedom to make what Ignis would of the world, and Ignis missed his father sorely as he approached what may have been certain doom.

Now it was very much clear his departure had been a terrible mistake. Still Ignis reaped his consequences and they grew more pressing by the hour. Now he was longing for the warmth of home, eager arms embracing him and telling him he was forgiven. He could only hope that his father would still welcome him – and of course Ignis knew he would. His family had done nothing but love and worry over him, and Ignis had turned his back on them.

But nagging doubt still lingered, as it always would, and Ignis tried to focus on the immediate future.

Blood spread across his tongue. Ignis had agitated his lip and shredded the dry skin. Dehydration claimed his throat again, prickling and uncomfortable. His legs were heavy and his brain strained with every thought. He wanted to stop and rest, wearied from their long journey, but determination and stubbornness pushed him forward. The end would be ahead, he hoped – and then he could go _home_ , in whatever form that took.

Beneath Ignis’ feet the gentle slope came to an end. Rocks scattered downwards with seemingly no end. Ignis swore he could hear the rush of water far beyond. It crashed into a grand pool of water, the sound endlessly looped. A waterfall overtook his mind’s eye. Ignis ears perked up and a hand settled against the small of his back again.

Once again, the slope began to saunter downwards and Ignis couldn’t help but waver. “How much deeper does it go?”

“Further than you know,” Cor said distantly, and Ignis wondered if it arced around or even through the gorge. “But the slope is steep, if that’s what you mean. Goes about ten feet more.”

Ignis could not afford to hesitate. He began to walk forward gingerly, testing the strength of the ground beneath his uncertain feet. “There’s a turn just beyond that. Can I guide you?”

There was no sense in taking an easily avoidable injury. Ignis tamped down on his instinctive irritation and nodded once. “Alright,” he said when Cor still paused, seeking his consent, and finally familiar hands settled upon his shoulder and waist.

They moved cautiously together. Ignis’ chest was cold and heavy, leadfooted. The world was wondrously still – curiously so, and Ignis wondered how large the clearing had grown. His hearing was obscured by the path of the water. “How large is it?”

Cor hummed, thoughtful. “Twice the size of the throne room,” he said, and Ignis marvelled at the thought. “Smaller than I remember, though. Brighter too.”

Ignis turned his way. “Truly?”

“Most of it is natural,” he said, and shuffled Ignis along into a sharp turn. The dirt path grew even steeper and Ignis almost teetered forward. “There are columns and torches. Manmade bridges deeper inside. Almost as if someone has tried to make a home, only to leave it abandoned. I wouldn’t say it’s homey though.”

The mental image he formed almost soothed him. Ignis tore down the unknown and imagined all that Cor gave. Columns reached from the ground to the impossible heights of the ceiling and bridges spread wide enough to carry armies, curving along a deep plunge into darkness. Harsh winds ripped along in response, spraying water and buffeting them, and it grew colder and colder the further in they walked. It was like something from Gladio’s novels – the final setting, where the villain who had kidnapped the love interest had fled.

Ignis wondered if the rough treatment had worn the cave down over the decades it had stood. Perhaps the magic protected it from natural wear and tear. It had made no attempt to prevent their entry, as unwelcome as Ignis had begun to feel, and as haunting the whispers. Cor’s return was not as triumphant or bold as the magic had perhaps expected.

Ignis could no longer control his curiosity. “How long has it been? Since you were here, I mean.”

“Decades,” Cor said and there was a strange softness to his tone as the ground flattened out. With the damp chill upon the air, it agitated Ignis’ vulnerable throat. “But I still see it often.”

_Dreams._ Understanding agonised his heart. Ignis needed no explanation and he gripped Cor’s shoulder in turn, a silent display of camaraderie. Their dreams plagued them both, though Cor never spoke of his own, no matter how violently he thrashed. All manner of pains plagued him; Ignis was sure of that. It had long been written in the constant shadows beneath his eyes and the coping mechanisms that Ignis remembered from childhood. How he so rarely slept on the coldest nights of the year and worked out throughout the nights, destroying sandbags, and running for hours on the treadmill, trying so hard to avoid his own traitorous thoughts.

It was a quiet agreement between the family that Cor would simply be monitored, and company given only if he came down for breakfast the next morning. Ignis spent many days close by his father’s side – clamouring for pancakes as a boy, sitting quietly against his shoulder as a teen, and offering quiet companionship and comforts as a young man. The family never asked, though it was clear that their extended family knew the truth.

In Ignis’ mind there was no shortage of horrors that his father had known. And Ignis had only gathered his own over the years, though he did not yet rival Cor’s number of scars. All his nightmares were an extension of his misery. They were snapshots of a life that would not leave him be. It was cowering to think that Ignis stood in a place that might have shaped his brave father so.

“How old were you,” he asked, anxious enough in his own imagination.

“Too young,” Cor said distantly. “For me it was… unavoidable. I was determined. But if it were you, or your brother – gods, you would just have been boys. Babies, at that.”

Pressing was wrong. Yet Ignis had to know. “Is… is the Blademaster how you lost your arm?”

In the moment of silence there was only water. Ignis had never known his father to embrace him without the cool contact of his prosthetic. When he tickled Ignis’ belly his other hand had never been as quick on the mark. “Yes,” Cor told him, little more than a murmur, and this day could have been nothing less than destiny.

“Thank you for telling me,” Ignis replied, touched and understanding, and they lapsed into silence.

They came into a clearing. Beneath his feet the floor became smooth tile, clean of rocks. Ignis could scarcely breathe. Gladio’s necklace was a terrible burden against his heart. “Is there any sight of him yet?”

“No. And none of the beasts that ally themselves to the Blademaster – I can only assume Gladio has fought his way through. But I can’t see any bodies.”

Several paces behind them, Prompto came to stand by Ignis’ side. His body was warm and thrumming with anxious energy. His gun cocked, a rattle and click. “Bodies?”

“The last I came here, there was all manner of foes,” Cor admitted, and his thumb swept back and forth over Ignis’ skin. “Soldiers, snakes, all sorts. I don’t see a single one.”

“Surely that’s a good thing,” Ignis suggested. “There is nothing to slow us down.”

Even as he hummed Cor seemed reluctant. “Perhaps,” he said, and nothing more followed.

The spray of water against his cheeks that came eastward helped rouse Ignis from his lethargy. He turned to the wind. He hadn’t realised how long his hair was getting, shaggy enough to touch his shoulders and now whipping around his face. “Forward, then?”

“Perhaps,” Cor replied, slowing to a stop. “Do you need to take a break?”

It wasn’t easy to shake it off. But Ignis would see this through. “No,” he lied. “But do you have any water?”

Cor’s canteen found its way into his hand. With a shake Ignis found it was half empty already and he allowed himself two mouthfuls only. It wouldn’t do much but the cotton mouth feeling was lessened, a relief for once. “Thank you,” he said, and then there was the softest skitter of stone across the cavern.

Ignis caught his breath a moment, holding the exhale within his chest, and half expected the sound to disappear. But it lingered and was almost entirely lost within the crash of water. It came to his left at several paces and Ignis’ distraction gave Prompto pause.

“What is it,” he asked, gruffness falling aside his curiosity.

It was a strange disturbance. So quiet Ignis almost doubted himself but he knew it. Something moved and he tilted his head, straining. “There’s something moving out there.”

Cor straightened up. The edge of his blade tapped against the bricks. “I don’t see anything.”

“It’s just the edge of the cavern. It’s real well lit. Can’t see anything moving.”

With a vehement shake of his head Ignis took a sharp step forward. His shoulders nudged Cor aside but he didn’t dare move closer. More rocks began to scatter and an indescribable noise followed – like the drag of scales against stone, enough to set Ignis on edge. “It’s out there-”

In a heartbeat Cor had sensed it too. Without a word and quicker than lightning he grabbed his shoulder and forced him back. Ignis had to snatch for his father to keep steady, staring out anxiously. The noise became a rumble that steadily grew louder, and rocks struck the floor, claws scraping. Something hissed.

“Prompto,” Cor said urgently and Prompto seized Ignis by the shoulders, hauling him back to where they had come. Rocks caught beneath their feet and Ignis fought against his hold, wrenching himself free. “Both of you – both of you stay back-”

“What is it,” Ignis demanded to know. It was like nothing he had ever heard. Clicks and warbles came from the darkness.

“I don’t know,” Prompto said, pitch rising. It was near frantic. “It’s huge-”

“Stay back,” Cor insisted as the creature shrieked, loud and piercing enough for Ignis to hurriedly cover his ears. It was a terrible rebound against the stone and he lost himself momentarily, bewildered in the sensory overload.

Something thudded forward into the clearing. It didn’t make the floor shake how Ignis anticipated but he swore it was close. Claws clicked and wings beat hard, a strong gust of air throwing dust into Ignis’ unguarded eyes. _Shit_ , someone said, and Cor yelled.

“Get Ignis out of here,” he insisted and lunged forward. His blade cleaved an arc through the air and the beast’s bellow was nothing short of thunderous. Prompto’s hands trembled and Ignis was not sure which was worse – standing helpless, touched by fear in the face of a monster he could not see, or watching Cor throw himself in battle.

Cor’s blade struck scales. Ignis built up the profile of the creature within his mind’s eye. Hulking and heavy, built with scales adorning wide wings. Few creatures came to mind and even fewer weaknesses. A young wyrm, or an aevis. Ignis had never seen the likes. They were commonplace in Gladio’s novels, the closest thing they had to the wyrms of legend.

A resounding click came from Prompto’s gun. “It’s standing on its back legs,” he said urgently. “It looks like a… fuck, what’s it – a plate wyrm. I don’t think blades are going to be any good here.”

Ignis’ heart dropped. A blade was near enough useless. Cor’s talent had never lay precisely in his magic, preferring to work with his hands than the power imbued by his fierce spirit. It wasn’t to say that his power was weak – Ignis had tasted the bite of his cold before during his lessons – but Cor preferred the brute force he had well practised over the gifts given to him.

It was difficult to reach for his power. The clash of foreign steel and the beat of the wyrm’s wings was too distracting and Cor shouted, furious at the challenge. All the while Ignis wracked his brain for the days he spent focused within the Citadel library, eating up all the grimoires and journals he could get his hands on.

The bite of Cor’s cold, he remembered, and Ignis focused on the blizzard inside. He grit his teeth against the chill. “Your magic,” he called. “Use your ice-”

Cor grunted – and then cried out in a burst of pain, and Prompto yelped. “Dad,” he called and darted forward, unable to be stopped in time. A shot rang out shortly after and Ignis could not hear the solid strike of contact.

“Stay away,” Cor told him again, terse and focused. Ignis stepped back sharply, instinctive under his authority, and stone met his shoulder blade. His nose was filled with wet earth and old stone. “Prompto-”

The intimately familiar sound of shattering crystals filled the air. It hurt Ignis’ heart to think of Noctis again, throwing himself with delight through the sky, all this power at his young hands. Prompto summoned a fistful of a blizzard, hissing against the freezing temperatures. “Dad,” he said warningly and not even a second followed before he cracked the self-forged orb against the tiles.

A winter’s day spread across the floor. It met even Ignis’ feet and the blast could have thrown him skyward. Instead he sank to his knees, and covered his head as best he could, protecting his unguarded face from the breeze. Tiny shards of ice gathered upon his cheeks and snow melted upon his eyelashes. All the while the wyrm screamed, fangs clicking and wings newly sluggish with shock.

Prompto took his chance to strike. Two shots in rapid succession rang out and something cracked, painful enough for the wyrm to take on a desperate snarl. Ignis could not locate Cor for even a moment, too quick and light on his feet. He steadied himself, mapping the world around him again, lost amongst the gunfire.

Still the magic rose inside him. He swallowed around a lump in his throat and forced himself to his feet again, feeling the ice gathering upon stone. The pommel of his blade came to life within his hand, sturdy – always there for him through it all. Ignis grasped it firmly and waited, breathless, knowing the dangers and yet needing to act.

There wasn’t a moment to waste. Danger lurked around each corner and Cor was never still. Ignis could strike his own father. He could strike his brother. But he saw the wyrm in his mind’s eye, a broad and wicked target, and Ignis let his dagger fly without second thought.

An awful sound met his ears. The blade cut deep, and a wet, disgusting noise followed. The beast wailed and it emerged a terrible gurgle, strained. Prompto yelled out in triumph and, encouraged, Ignis flicked his hand, throwing the other. It clattered uselessly against stone and skidded on the ice and Ignis bit back a curse.

As always Cor took full advantage of the distraction. Ignis heard the sharp sound of a blade cutting through softness, stuck deep in flesh, and Cor grunted hard. Prompto leapt back and struggled against the still twirling snow. Ignis wavered for a moment, leaning back against the wall, and trying against his logic to call his blades back. For a moment Ignis swore he could feel the shape of them, sturdy and strong, his faithful friends, but his hands closed around nothing still.

One final gunshot, and there was an almighty thump. The wyrm wailed and thrashed, scraping along the stone and ice, and Prompto called, “Careful!”

Heavy boots crushed ruined ice. Another flash of blue illuminated the shadows in Ignis’ eyes. “It’s over,” Cor said, winded but self-assured, and one terrible, final crack silenced the creature.

It was stunningly silent after. Ignis’ chest rose and fell sharply. “Did… did I-?”

“You hit it in the roof of its mouth,” Cor told him. “I shoved my sword through its skull.”

_Good_ , he thought. Nothing tried to claim his family and lived. With a moment’s effort he sought the great corpse, plucking his weapon with ease, stepping into the worst of the cold. “We need to keep moving. Can you see where my other dagger went?”

“Just let us take a break for two minutes,” Prompto interrupted and his hand splayed against Ignis’ belly. His tone carried nothing but breathlessness. “Dad, your cut.”

Ignis had almost forgotten entirely. “How bad is it?”

With a dismissive grunt he waved the two of them away. “It’s a scratch. Nothing more.”

“It’s bleeding,” Prompto said. “It might not be much, but it needs to be looked at. Sit down.”

Ignis could perfectly imagine Cor’s expression. Put out and tentative, bored by something as important as self-care. “It’s fine-”

“Sit down,” Ignis urged him and Cor sighed.

He trundled away, defeated, and Prompto helped Ignis along until they came to a shelf of rock. Upon exploration Ignis realised it was a fallen column, carvings etched into the stone. They made no sense to him and he trailed his fingers down, curious, until he found his father’s knee. All academic curiosity fell away. “Where is it?”

“His shoulder,” Prompto explained. “Dad-”

“Alright, alright,” Cor grunted and Ignis waited as he shrugged out of his jacket. It was dumped on the floor and Ignis’ hands found his father’s chest, warm through his sweater. Ignis knew it well, feeling the familiar bobbles and old textures. Cor had owned it for years. Ignis had no idea he still did. “Right side.”

As Ignis’ hand slid over it grew wet. A tear cut through the flesh and blood arm and all along, deeper than Ignis expected. His mouth parted and smaller, warmer hands met his. “Can you cure this? I don’t have a lot in my pack. We left nearly all the potions at Hammerhead.”

Frowning, Ignis nodded. “Yes. It should knit together well enough.”

“Don’t waste your energy,” Cor offered but Ignis lightly thumped his stomach.

“Don’t tell me what requires my attention,” he said, unable to summon much bite but Cor remained silent, nonetheless. His hand settled over the length and width of the wound, just long enough that he required two hands. “Is there anything else, Prompto?”

“No,” he said, and Ignis closed his eyes.

The sensation not something he enjoyed. Knitting together flesh was no simple task and Ignis breathed through the knot that grew in his belly. Cor grunted as they shared the cold, standing strong against the uncomfortable feeling. Ignis knew all too well the sickening sensation of torn skin growing taut and stretching over the ruinous wound and felt sorry and vindicated all in one.

With time Cor heaved a great sigh. His hand finally covered Ignis’ and the blood of the beast smeared along his knuckles. “It’s done,” he said and Ignis let his hands fall away.

It exhausted him enough that he remained crouched a moment longer. He let his head drop and he leaned all his weight against the column, still winded. The water crashed from far away, undisturbed, and Ignis noted with comfort that he finally could no longer hear the wave of whispers, so close it seemed to have come from within.

Standing uncertainly before them both Prompto began to stammer. “What was – what’s happening?” He asked, no doubt fidgeting. It was his worst habit. “Was it part of the Trial? And why didn’t it go after Gladio? We were just passing through.”

Running his hand through his hair Cor quietly groaned. “Well, yes. But I don’t know,” he admitted. “The last time I was here I fought a different beast entirely. Could just be it didn’t sense him, I guess.”

Ignis lifted his head. It was far more difficult that it should have been. “Why did you come here?”

Cor’s steady breathing filled the aching silence. With his hand still splayed on Cor’s knee he pulled back, using a moment of awkward adjustment to sit up upon the column, side by side. Ignis’ curiosity was a wicked thing – he could never be told no, or later. There was no reason Cor ever should have been here as a young man, no reason that Gladio might have come so many years later, and the interest could not be denied.

The words stuck in Cor’s throat. Broken syllables emerged but Cor struggled to give them voice. “I…” he began and sighed as heavily as Ignis had ever heard. “I was arrogant. I thought… I thought finding and taking down Gilgamesh alone would make them respect me.”

“Them?” Prompto asked, voice small. “You mean – the Citadel?”

“Who else,” Cor spoke with that same dry, tired lilt. “It was the very same way they spoke to the two of you – like you’re nothing more than a new-born playing at a superior’s game. I was young, yes. Very young. But I was not Lucian, nor rich, nor polite. They hated me for it and said I didn’t serve to be by his Majesty’s side. So I kept lashing out, tearing everything down – then I heard about Gilgamesh.”

It was a familiar name only from his books. Ignis had made it his mission to read everything within the grand library but some were beyond his means or interest. He had not read the title of Blademaster among Gilgamesh’s limited biography – but as Cor spoke the faintest voices picked up again, barely audible below the rush of water, and Ignis wondered again if his companions could hear them too.

Before he could ask Cor continued. “These ruins were discovered thirty something years ago. Too many times to count hunters and academics would try to venture inside – looking for Astrals only knew what. Every single time the teams would never return. We’d lose contact in a matter of hours, and no one sent to recover any bodies or tags ever came back either.”

Boots dragged through the dirt. The whispers listened, murmuring their own little comments and judgements, and Ignis focused on his father’s voice alone pushing aside all else. “Pretty soon after all this I offered to go in. Wanted to make myself useful and give some comfort to the families of the missing.” He laughed a little, throat raw. “Regis told me absolutely not. Clarus told me I was an idiot for even thinking about offering and I was furious. Thought they were laughing at me behind my back. Didn’t help that I overheard Clarus that night talking about something called the Trial - I didn’t bring it up, just refused to speak to them for a couple days – and then thought, hey, who’s stopping me?”

Immediate dread sat in Ignis’ stomach. He leaned a little closer to Cor as if seeking his attention. _We’ve all made the same mistaken, spanning across decades._ _Leaving those who love us and wanted the best._ “You left.”

“I left,” Cor confirmed and Ignis couldn’t read his tone. “Packed my stuff, left that next evening. They didn’t even know I was gone until the next morning and by that time I was halfway across Lucis. Cid rat me out when I stopped at Hammerhead too. I didn’t tell him where I was going, but his eyes had always been sharp.”

Silently Prompto settled on Cor’s left. The cold remained but Cor ran hot, and Ignis’ mind slowly came to terms with a terrible truth. _Thirty years_ , he had said. Ignis balked. “You were fifteen.”

Prompto gave a sharp inhale of breath, and he choked when Cor said, “Yes.”

Ignis leaned further forward. Horror filled his throat and he barely managed to ask, “Why?”

He felt how Cor shrugged his shoulders uselessly. His father hummed a moment, quiet, before crossing his arms tightly against his chest. Another habit. Cor only crossed his arms when he was silently worrying about something. “I was a spitfire. I had everything to prove and thought I had nothing to lose. So I went to go prove my ability with a sword bigger than I was, and I got my ass beat. It was only the fact that Regis ran across Lucis to look for me and found me half dead outside of the ruins. Don’t even remember how I’d gotten there.”

It was something Ignis could not bear to consider. They had all seen each other bloodied and bruised, exhausted but alive. It hurt to think of a boy barely older than Talcott with broken bones and sluggishly bleeding cuts. Left to die in the rain. “You’re a fool,” he said, tongue faster than his mind, and Cor simply laughed.

“I know that now,” Cor said. “There’s much I would have missed if I had died there. thought I could go it alone.” His voice dropped an octave. “Didn’t you?”

Offended, Ignis sat up. It was harder to ignore the truth of the matter but Ignis still insisted, “That’s different.”

Through it all Ignis could still hear his father’s smile. “Is it really?”

In Ignis’ perspective the logic remained. But with the slightest consideration and new viewpoint it began to crumble under interrogation quickly enough. To be alone was what Ignis had desired most. It was easier to wait for his King when a dozen eyes weren’t upon him every waking moment, worrying and muttering amongst themselves. But a part of him wanted to prove them wrong, as Cor wanted – and all he had done was waste his time and alienate those he loved. Gladio had fallen into shadow and Prompto taken by the cold. Ignis had done nothing but broken the hearts of those he loved – _my father’s son, through and through._

Cor saw his expression change for the worst. A careful hand found his and rest across his knuckles. “I learned back then that we’re stronger together,” he urged. “I don’t mean to patronize you, here of all places, but I know it’s hard. I can only imagine how much harder it is for you. But my brothers saved my life, and often, I saved theirs in turn. Once we find Gladio – once this is over, I want you… well, I want you to come home. But I want you to make the best decision for yourself. You, and your mental health.”

Reluctance still sank its claws into Ignis’ unguarded flesh. “Noctis-”

Another hand met his. Smaller, warmer. “Wouldn’t Noct want us to stay together?” Prompto asked, voice the softest he had heard it in months. That voice was saved for Iris and Talcott alone. “We… we were wrong, a lot. More than most of us think. But being apart and alone doesn’t help anyone. It just hurts. Noct wouldn’t want us to hurt.”

It did hurt. The knife that severed his bonds cut deeply into his own flesh. And the wound only festered as Ignis wasted his time, stagnating. But their words had been poison of their own making. “You wouldn’t let me help. You treated me like I was useless.”

Both hands sealed comfortingly around his. “I have no excuse,” Cor told him. “I thought I was doing what was right. But I didn’t listen to you, and that was wrong. Ignis, I’m sorry.”

Ignis had always been well equipped for confrontation, but he was weak before those he loved. They had seen him vulnerable and twisted and Ignis so often struggled to walk in the shoes of another. Other perspectives were too often a mystery for him. Ignis thought he could understand their pain while they pushed his aside – but perhaps he had grown numb to it too. Perhaps they had both been ignorant.

Bowing his head to hide how his expression fell apart, how the pain ravaged him, he leaned forward and against Cor’s shoulder. Breathing was not as easy as it once was. And finally Ignis could speak, desperate to break the chain. “I’m sorry I left.”

A warm hand cupped the back of his neck. “You’re alright,” he promised, and a fond kiss was pressed against his temple. “Don’t be afraid. We’re together again, and we’ll pull through this. Alright?”

Shamefully Ignis sniffled. It was Prompto’s hand firm against his shoulder that touched him the deepest, fingers curling and squeezing. It was fortunate that Ignis could not see their expressions. Ignis knew it would have been his undoing.

Tears were never a weakness but Ignis still often found shame in their lack of practicality. Tears were a waste of time. And Ignis wept for minutes, shaking, and sobbing, and loving arms kept him safe all the while. He stammered apologies but they hushed them, comforting rubs all along his back, and Ignis could barely pull himself together.

Ignis loved them. He adored them, and always had, and always would. In the same vein Gladio had a firm grip on his heart, beating for him, and Ignis loved him despite the turn their friendship had taken. Ignis loved him and needed him to come home.

“I’m sorry,” he hiccupped. In this moment he was little more than grief.

“Don’t apologise,” Cor told him and Ignis’ heart still could not rest.

It hurt to scrub at his eyes. The skin was sore and breathing was a struggle, chest tight. But Prompto’s hands were a comfort like no other, affectionate at last, and with time Ignis could pull himself together, clawing back his restraint.

“You – you said he took your arm,” Ignis said, eager to change the subject, and Cor remained merciful.

It was a topic so rarely discussed. A shadow always crossed Cor’s face. “Yes,” he admitted, and his hand never fell away. “I knew what the risks where. I was more obsessed with what the Trial symbolised, and fought my hardest, and in the end, I had nothing to show for it – in desperation and rage I cleaved off his arm. And it infuriated him. He took mine in blind revenge.”

“And you survived?” It seemed unthinkable.

“I don’t know how,” he admitted. His thumb brushed over Ignis’ knuckles and he held Prompto’s hand carefully. “I should have died. Nearly did. But I’m here – and I never meant for Gladio to know about this. I have no idea how he knows – especially regarding my katana. It doesn’t make sense.”

Nothing made sense. Why either of them would come to such a dismal place was beyond him. Ignis carried his own pride, that much was clear – but Gladio’s foolhardy behaviour was unlike anything Ignis had seen from him before. It seemed unreal. “Why has Gladio come here?”

“I can’t imagine why,” Cor confessed, and the child inside Ignis trembled. His father had known everything when he was a boy. Without his confidence they were lost. “But we’ll find out and bring him home. Alright?”

Words were beyond him. It was hard enough to breath and feel the wild upon his cheeks. It would have been wonderful to stay in the moment of comfort forever – but it was sparse and reality would always catch up with Ignis. He had spent years trying to outrun it, all for naught.

It threatened to surge ahead of them now and Cor knew it. “Come on,” he said gently, and under his guidance Ignis managed to stand on wavering legs. “It’s still a bit of a walk.”

It was killing him not knowing. It was easy to feel like Gladio would be forever beyond his reach. “How much further?”

“Depends on what tries to stop us,” Cor said grimly, and Ignis’ nerves quivered.

Prompto’s hand slipped from his shoulder, past his elbow, and took Ignis’ in his own. His hand was newly clammy but Ignis clung to it, nonetheless. “We’ll find him,” Prompto said, tapping into Ignis’ worst fears. “Together. Okay?”

Ignis nodded wordlessly. His nails had cut semi circles into the groves of his gloves and he murmured small thanks as Cor pressed his last dagger into his hand. Slick with now cooled blood, Ignis wiped it thoughtlessly on his jacket.

A new world circled around his teeming head. Ignis breathed through it all and narrowed his eyes when a thought came to him. “You said in the van this was a challenge for Shields.”

Cor blew out a breath. “Unofficially, yes. Though… Clarus had elected not to take part.”

“Could he afford to do it?”

“Mmm,” Cor said, thoughtfully, and Ignis knew his smile was wry. “He wasn’t afraid of the Trial, if that’s what you mean. But he was afraid of leaving Regis behind, and what would happen if death were his only prize. A Shield is no use if they return victorious to a corpse, and a king cannot be protected by the dead. Clarus remained by Regis’ side – and he received no end of mockery for it, by those who know nothing of the Trial but the falsehoods of glory.”

Ignis knew the empty words of the Council all too well. Their fathers had done well to protect them from the worst of the bite, but Ignis could sense the disconnect even as a young boy. Judgements came ten a gil, cruel and endless – damned if you do and damned if you don’t. But still he frowned. “Falsehoods of glory? If this is an unofficial trial with no reward, then why-?”

“I committed myself to this trial decades ago, and all these years later… I can’t tell you exactly why.” Against his shoulder Cor was newly weary. His body slumped minutely. “Pride, maybe. Foolishness, certainly. There is no reward for this that doesn’t come from within, perhaps self-satisfaction. You carry home no prize but your head remaining upon your shoulders.

And Gladio had come here, of all places. It didn’t make enough sense. From all their years together Ignis knew Gladio was not just of sound mind, but sharp – he would never take a senseless risk. Perhaps with his own skin on the line it would be different. But Gladio had shepherded Noctis from all manner of mistakes. It was almost impossible that Gladio would fall so low.

He supposed that these days were different. Struggle made strangers of men. Honour had disfigured him, Ignis expected, the drive expected of all Amicitia gone manic. There was no other reason that Gladio had come.

It was a mistake to be here. All of them had blundered further away from the light at some point or another, and Ignis would haul Gladio back no matter what the cost.

“We should continue,” Ignis shook the thought away, making sure his hand remained twined with Prompto’s. Healing would not begotten by spite.

Prompto _um’d_ and _ah’d_. “Are you… sure you want to carry on?”

Now Prompto was very cautious. Like he afraid of any missteps and ruining all their hard work. Ignis strove to not take personal insult, hard as it could be. “I’m sure,” he said firmly, and his family quickly followed his cue. Cor’s hands reluctantly fell away but Prompto held on tighter. “Here- here, let me…”

It wasn’t going to work. But these days Ignis was a man fuelled with desperation. He fumbled awkwardly for his mobile. “I know it almost certainly won’t work, but…”

“You can always try,” Prompto said even as clear doubt coloured his tone. They waited, flinching for a spare moment when Ignis almost lost his grip on his phone, and Ignis’ voice wavered dangerously.

“Kweh,” he asked, and the phone buzzed in his hand to indicate it was listening. “Call Gladio.”

_Calling Gladiolus_ , she purred, and they all waited with bated breath. The silence on the other end stretched on for a small eternity before the call cut, unable to connect.

Ignis closed his eyes and shoved his phone back in his pocket carelessly. “It won’t connect.”

“Then all we can do is push after him,” Prompto said, his voice like steel. “Come on. We can’t hang around.”

The path ahead, in Ignis’ mind, seemed brutally endless. Only jagged rocks and sharp slopes, creatures that Ignis couldn’t comprehend. But the reward of Gladio was entirely worth it. Even if he were angry or shunned them all, Ignis desperately needed to hear his voice again. Even to simply say that he was sorry. Simply to say goodbye, and Ignis refused to tremble any longer.

With his hand in Prompto’s he walked with more confidence. They passed through the room and Ignis knew the stench of dust and blood, as intense as mould. The corpse of the aevis was left behind and Ignis shook away the last touch of magic’ sharp chill. Cor led them in silence, lost within Ignis’ darkness but heavy footed and just a few feet ahead.

The new quiet was a little easier, at least. Ignis turned his head toward Prompto, murmuring, “What does it look like?”

A small hum filled the air. Small rocks littered the path, the tiles slipping away under their feet. “Brighter than I thought from the opening,” he said with muted humour. “It’s all like… jagged rocks, broken up columns. There’s a mist, too, a kind of… purple hue. It’s beautiful, but…” he cleared his throat softly. “There’s danger. It looks like no one has been here in ages, but I almost feel… like I’m being watched.” He laughed a little with no grace. “I know it sounds stupid, but…”

“No,” Ignis interrupted as gently as he could. “I understand. I feel it too.”

A disquieting and uncomfortable noise left Prompto’s throat. “I don’t like it really. I just want to find Gladio and leave.”

Ignis squeeze his hand. It was so much smaller than his and easy to wrap up in his fingers. “Soon,” he promised, but could not scrounge up enough confidence for them both.

-X-

As they made their throughout the cavern the air grew steadily warmer.

It was warm enough that Ignis pulled frequently at his collar for relief and Prompto’s hand grew sweaty. The sound of their feet seemed louder and always echoed as the cave was blown wide and Ignis imagined the paths growing confusing, messy, rock arching just above their heads. Still Cor never faltered, trusting in what memory haunted him.

All the while the thunder of falling water grew louder and louder and once they were forced to take some sharp lefts again the change of air and atmosphere was immediate. It was like a sheet of frozen water fell upon his head, drenching his skin in ice, and Ignis couldn’t help but exhale sharply. He paused, fearing a sudden drop into nothingness, and Prompto almost walked into him.

Such a sudden contrast in temperature made his cheeks tingle. Ignis began to tremble and Cor’s hand settled on the small of his back, abruptly understanding. All of his layers became useless. “We’ve come to the gorge. There’s paths all along – narrow bridges, with no sides or rails,” he explained, and the dread overwhelmed Ignis. “Hey, don’t worry – we’ve got you, alright?”

Nervous, unwilling to take a leap of faith at this point in their journey, he hesitated. There was only the sound of the water and the expanse of emptiness that stretched before them. The sight must have been awe inspiring. It inspired a very different emotion in Ignis. “How far is the drop,” he asked.

A beat of silence stretched between the three of them. “Considerable,” Cor eventually said, and it was the kindest truth he could have given. “I can’t see the bottom.”

_What if Gladio had fallen?_ Ignis chest seized. He clung tighter to Prompto’s hand and perfectly on cue another of Prompto’s hands curled around his bicep, assuring. “Hey. Just stay with me, real close, and you’ll make it through,” he promised. “I won’t let you fall.”

“We’re still quite far out from solid ground,” Cor said regretfully. “Maybe I should scout ahead.”

“No,” Prompto said too quickly for Ignis to even fathom it. Both found the thought untenable. “Stay with us.”

Steady and sure, Cor’s thumb swept over the small of Ignis’ back. It managed to soothe Ignis’ nerves enough to inspire him to take his first step forward.

Nonetheless it felt awful. No matter how soon the ground would meet his feet, it was too much. It reminded him of the early days of his condition – the way he forced himself forward with limbs that still shook from fatigue, always facing the wind against the tender skin of his face. He was nothing more than a bag of bruises and sore muscle and still he walked endlessly into the darkness. There was no other choice. And Ignis still fought against the tide trying to lead him drift – here he was, walking into the dark, but at least he had Prompto by his side.

His shoes met slick wood. It creaked under his weight and Ignis’ breath caught. “Don’t worry,” Prompto said hurriedly. “It’s sturdier than you think. Just keep walking forward and you’ll find the stone again in a little bit.”

It was easier said than done. All the while wood groaned and Ignis couldn’t bear walking forward quickly to a future he could not see. But he walked nonetheless, steeling his writhing guts, and sure enough found his feet upon sure stone.

The relief was not long lasting. “There’s a lot more of the bridges ahead,” Prompto said reluctantly and the hope died immediately.

But Prompto murmured encouragement all the while. So faithful, so bold, and Ignis found the guilt to be a heavier burden than fear. In turn Ignis clutched at him, hoping it could say what he struggled to put into words. Things like _I’m sorry,_ and _I trust you_.

“Where are we now,” Ignis asked, battered endlessly by the wind.

“Really deep underground,” Prompto had to raise his voice. “We’re, uh… walking along the side of the gorge still, angling deeper. Eventually we’ll head back into the caverns. I can see the sky - not sure how high it is above, though.”

_The sky._ Ignis wished with everything that he had that the sun could filter through and greet his grubby skin. He needed that guiding light. “Any sign of Gladio?”

“No,” Prompto admitted, reluctantly, and there was no way that Ignis could distract himself from the dismal depths any longer.

They curved down and back on themselves countless times, not unlike a spiral staircase. The wind began to fade but never entirely, an ever-present rush of sound. Often Prompto had to guide Ignis in so tightly against the wall of the gorge that the rockface ground against his shoulder, feet pinched together, and Ignis swore he could hear chimes nailed up against posts. Everything was foreign to his ears and Ignis strained as well as he could to get a feel of the world around him.

With time, Ignis grew weary. Even old and comfortable leather could rub against his swollen, aching feet. “Is it truly much further? How deep can we possibly be now?”

For a moment it was clear that Prompto was deep in thought. He took a long moment to answer and hummed. Pebbles clattered and fell, doomed to the depths of the gorge. Ignis did not hear them reach the bottom. “You know the towers of the Citadel? Highest point in all of Insomnia? Deeper than that – probably.”

The thought could have bowelled Ignis over. “Astrals,” he said and could only breath easily once their feet reached the confidence of solid ground.

It was a longer stretch of walking. Thankfully, they turned away from the madness of the bridges, sinking now into the depths of another endless cavern. Shadows passed over Ignis’ hooded eyes. Now and again Ignis felt the pleasure of heat upon his skin – lanterns, he assumed, but they never lingered. The cold always slunk back and only Prompto’s steady hands were an immediate comfort.

A curious part of him longed to see himself how far it spiralled and how far the shroud of darkness fell. The stars could not reach them here, and Ignis wasn’t sure they would feel moonlight again. It was cold enough for enough mist to blind them all, surely, and it smelt unspeakably old - and older the deeper they walked. Like soaked earth and ash, the same age Ignis had once enjoyed in the Citadel library. Ignis could believe that few had trodden this ground, damn near consecrated.

For a while he wondered who first had walked these paths. Who had placed the tiles, forged the columns? The soil was rich with blood, he was sure, and Ignis wondered if he crushed the bones of both animal and man underfoot.

He wished too that he could see the haze ahead. Even through horror it must have been breath-taking – the world beyond Insomnia was truly spellbinding and Ignis missed it sorely. Unparalleled beauty and colourful characters and in a strange way Ignis relished the thrill. _Watch me_ , he thought. _Watch me keep going, despite it all. Watch me talk tall._

But it remained awkward and tense. They doubled back on each other still, winding often enough for Ignis to consider asking if they were lost. But Cor strode forward with certainty and Prompto never allowed him to stumble, and with time his brother exhaled harshly, relieved.

“Back into the open,” he joked weakly. He had never the stomach for constricted, dark places. Not since –

Ignis forced that line of thought away. Prompto let him go free and Ignis missed those hands fondly, eager to lean back into his touch. “Pretty wide open for now.”

Ignis tugged the end of his jacket down firmly. It smelt less like home here – like rot, and even Cor’s sweat was a sweeter scent as Cor brushed past his shoulder. “Stay close,” he murmured, and the silence was dreadful.

_How much deeper_ , he wondered. _How much darker?_

Cor led the way on memory alone. Ignis didn’t dare stray too far. With his family close at hand there was so much less fear – he walked with far more confidence, no longer fuelled by only impatience and demand for answers. But as they wandered the stench deepened and Ignis recoiled on instinct, Prompto giving a disgusting sound. Ignis tugged up his jacket to breathe. Even worse than the waters at Old Lestallum, it smelt like a rotting corpse, left for days.

The silence was the only thing that left Ignis truly uneasy. Ignis loathed the sound of his own fleeting heartbeat, his harsh breathing, but he swore the water was rushing up to meet them. Underground springs appeared to run rampant, a rush of sound steadily whistling and wheezing – but it grew louder and louder, impossibly so, as if the water bubbled at his feet.

Ignis hissed, unable to bear it as it grew shrill and sharp, and someone started. “What is it,” Prompto asked, and a horrible rasping filled his ears.

_Turn back,_ something wicked told him, something cold and frightening, and a hand curled tight around Ignis’ chest, feeling like something crushed his ribcage. _Turn back, foolish boy, before those ashen eyes of yours lead to your doom._

When Ignis recoiled hard the disembodied voice laughed at its own cruel joke. It rebounded and rose and fell, somehow remaining consistently sharp. The voice was an assault on his senses, overwhelming in Ignis’ darkness. His hand immediately went for the dagger at his waist. “Who are you,” he demanded to know, and Prompto squeezed onto him tightly.

Another voice – different, scathing – came to him. _You don’t belong here, it_ decided. _You, unfit for the Trial – how dare you sully this ground? You cannot even walk alone. Begone._

Out of instinct Ignis bared his teeth in a snarl. “How dare you,” he shot back. “How dare you call into question my-”

_Silence,_ it hissed, and Ignis was abruptly dizzy. With another sense stolen from him it was a monumental task to stand. He swayed, barely able to resist the nausea. _You cannot be permitted to pass into the Inner Sanctum – leave, before your bones join all those found wanting._

Being touched was too much. Hands took hold of his biceps and Ignis started, desperate to tear away. “Iggy,” Prompto said, panicked, too surprised to let go. “Iggy – what’s-”

“Iggy,” Cor interrupted, firm and calm as ever. Ignis had no idea how he could retain such cohesion. Prompto’s hands were steadily pried away, not unkindly. “Don’t panic. Don’t – it’s okay. I heard them too. It’s perfectly normal, and don’t listen to them.”

Cor’s voice managed to cut through the murkiness. It was low, level, and Ignis clung to him with all his desperation. “Father, I-”

“Don’t be afraid,” he repeated, and Ignis no longer heeded the voices. “We’re here for you.”

They still lingered, terrible and cruel. Like the beat of the ocean, washing away the worn stones. The wooziness remained and Ignis feared he might be lost – but Cor was the lighthouse upon the coast, unassailable and bold. “Don’t listen to them,” he said, don’t be afraid, and that mocking laughter stole away as if on the breeze.

Only when the whispers subdued could Ignis think straight. Mind sluggish and reeling he shook away the shock, senses prickling and slowly beginning to sharpen. Ignis’ mouth was full of blood, teeth having sunk into the flesh of his cheek. The bile in his mouth ebbed away. “What are they,” Ignis asked, red-faced when his voice wavered and broke. “I don’t understand,”

“Guardians,” Cor explained as if that made any sense. There was contempt dripping from his tone. “Those who served the Blademaster in life and continue to do so even beyond the grave.”

Ignis’ skin crawled. The sour stench in his nostrils worsened still. The dead were uncannily close at hand and no longer seemed so still. “Spirits?”

“Yes, but…” Cor’s nostrils flared widely when he snuffled to himself. “But they’re more than that. We must be careful.”

Events had unfolded not at all how Ignis anticipated. His knees were still weak and Ignis grit his teeth, grinding painfully. “I – I can’t-”

Automatically Cor took his hand. His palm was rough and familiar, nicked with scars and little patches of rough burned skin. “I understand,” Cor promised, and Ignis believe him. “They… they can have physical forms, and I’m sure we will encounter them again. I need you to stay on your guard for me. There’s no turning back.”

Breathing unsteadily Ignis rubbed at his eyes and pushed his limp hair out of his eyes. _It’s nothing you’ve not known before,_ he lied to himself. _You heard the voice of the Kings and failed to slay a man carved with a sword and filled with bullets. This is no surprise. Pull yourself together._

An awful current electrified the air. Roaring water coasted, still disorientating. Ignis kidded himself that the voices were amongst every noise – the dislodged rocks and the shifting of soil. Ignis’ trembled with emotion that he could not contain, wicked eyes peering into his heart.

Drawing closer, Prompto was hushed and uncertain. “I didn’t hear anything. What did they say?”

Ignis grimaced. Blood and sickness was a foul taste. “That we shouldn’t be here,” he stumbled. “That we shouldn’t pass into the Inner Sanctum.”

They each looked towards Cor for answers. He only gave a heavy sigh, shoulders deflating. When no guidance came Prompto laughed uncertainly. “So… Gladio probably shouldn’t be here either, huh?”

“I don’t think it would stop him,” Cor said grimly.

Prompto’s hand was never far. Making up for lost time, Ignis suspected, and they clutched each other. Prompto was trembling but clung still to high hopes and fraying confidence, always looking towards the sun. Ignis could only hope such bravery would not be dashed against the stone.

-X-

There was magic upon the air.

It was an omen. Ignis could not be sure of the type. For the time being he kept one foot in front of the other, losing himself to the routine of an endlessly long path. _Keep breathing, keep hoping. Keep walking._

If the whispers watched, they said nothing in Ignis’ ear. But they lingered and shifted, like rats in the darkness, somewhere hidden beneath every single sound. And they were angry – as Ignis ducked under arcs and slipped between tight gaps they simmered and writhed at some insult. Only Cor’s infrequent voice could keep them at bay.

Prompto nattered so quietly his voice was almost lost entirely within the rebound. Nonsense about the stars, the magic that weighed heavily in the air – arcs of light erupting from the ground that, like the arches of Rydielle Ley swept far and wide. _It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before,_ he said. Ignis thought he had near enough seen it all – he wondered what other mysteries lay beneath the soil of Eos.

He had never sensed a magic so rich. There was magic rich upon the air. With the stark weight of it Ignis wondered if it was visible to the naked eye. It was easy to recall Steyliff Grove and the sights within that stole their breath away. There was magic contained within that Ignis could not comprehend, older even than the gifts of his Majesty, and Ignis would always remember the splendour of the water held far above their heads. Magic made beauty beyond his comprehension – but here it set his senses alight, a paranoia creeping against his skin.

So much so that when Prompto brought them to a slow stop Ignis looked sharply his way. “What is it,” he asked brusquely.

“Uh,” Prompto said, clearly caught off guard. “It’s just a pretty steep wall. Dad’s gonna have to haul you up.”

There was a scuffle, and a grunt and Cor cleared the wall easily. Ignis sought it with his own hand and found it almost eclipsing his own height. There were cuts taken from the stone. Ignis knew sensation well. Like a sword had gone awry, cleaving against the wall.

Gladio was far too controlled for that. Ignis wondered how old this mark was, thumbing the groove and finding no dust across his skin. But Cor quickly sealed his hand around his. “Ready?”

Immediately Ignis braced his foot against the wall. “Ready.”

Effortlessly Cor heaved him up. Prompto’s hands were supportive against his waist, pushing him with great care, and Cor didn’t even break a sweat as Ignis coasted over the edge. “Good, good,” Cor said, pleased, and settled back down on his knees. “You next, Prom.”

It seemed even higher a climb that Ignis anticipated. Prompto sounded very far below. “Iggy, help me up,” he insisted, hand patting against the stone.

A little surprised, it took Ignis a moment to sink to his knees. Bracing his feet against the steady ground, testing his purchase, he reached down for Prompto to meet him halfway. “Are you ready?”

Cor was quiet behind them, shuffling back to give Prompto the space he needed. Prompto took Ignis’ hand alone, seemingly confident, and Ignis basked in the opportunity and trust shown. All he had to do was not falter. “Ready,” he confirmed.

Ignis pulled him forward steadily. It was Prompto was did most of the work, feet pushing against the climb. He was heavier than Ignis recalled. Prompto was lean still, a small frame built with the muscle of a runner, but Ignis wavered for just a moment as Prompto approached the very top.

Still Cor never darted forward to save them. He waited, no doubt agonized, but Prompto worked over the summit, scraped against the stone.

“Sorry,” Ignis said on impulse, embarrassed, but Prompto shook his head.

“Nothing to be sorry about,” Prompto insisted. “Thanks. The road is clear ahead.”

There was grit still in his palm. Ignis thoughtlessly shook it clear, a little more encouraged. The nagging rush of sound barely bothered him – for the moment. “Alright,” he said, not sure of what else to say, and Prompto’s hand wound back with his and guided him forward.

This time it was Cor who spoke. “We’re about to pass into the trial room,” he spoke, voice bold and unwavering despite it all. “There may be… there may be something waiting for us within. Please be careful.”

_How had you made it through all this as only a child_ , Ignis could only wonder, but didn’t dare ask. It was a wonder that Cor had managed to lose only the one arm.

To their great relief they left shadow. Moonlight trickled through an unseen gap above, but only barely and the oppressive darkness over Ignis’ eyes grew ever so slightly softer. Rocks under his boots became pebbles, easy to be crushed, and the chimes softly tinkled against one another.

“The way is open, so Gladio’s definitely been through,” Cor said. “Watch your head. It’s narrow.”

There were steps ahead. Small, so narrow that they barely fit Ignis’ feet, and Ignis bowed his head cautiously. It was almost not enough – his hair brushed against the stone archway and he felt that same shift of energy as he slipped over the threshold. As if he had walked into consecrated ground, unworthy to track dust throughout, and it pulled apart like spiderwebs.

Immediately the scent of blood and ichor filled his noise. For a moment dread seized him, but Cor shook his head. “Someone has defeated the test,” he said with barely a glimmer of pride. “We’ll walk through undisturbed.”

There was no foul stench of rot. Only blood and dust. Whatever the beast was, it must have been killed recently. Ignis stepped in a pool of wetness as they passed through, and there was no dripping of water – the blood, he presumed, not yet coagulated, and hurried past.

It was easier once they had fled. The terse air was left behind, the weight of something expressly forbidden, but the nagging feeling of _wrong_ stuck upon Ignis’ shoulders. They came to an open path, rock long fallen away if the boulders and sheets of stone that brushed against Ignis’ knees and feet meant anything, and Ignis thought the rush was simply that wind that mussed his hair.

But it carried voices – wrathful, snarling, and Ignis’ shoulders once again bunched up tight.

_How dare you_ , they began, and Prompto yelped.

He froze where he stood, locking up with fear and surprise, and Ignis pressed up close as if to shield him from mere words. He bore his teeth against the nothingness. “There’s nothing you might say to us to make us stop. Don’t waste your time.”

Someone laughed. It was low and throaty, amused at their display, but the first voice came back stronger. _We’ll chase you away,_ it declared. _Boys, pretending to be soldiers – so barely within the truth of the new world, once cradled in complacency, and your think yourself hardened!_

_It is a great shame,_ another voice murmured. _We had once been impressed by your focus and steel, Immortal – and yet you have failed to impress upon your children your conviction. Disappointing to say the least._

“I ignored you then,” Cor responded, voice sharp as a whip. “I’ll ignore you now.”

It laughed at him again, so amused by his insistence. _We’ll see,_ it said.

“Oh, they’re,” Prompto began and swallowed hard. “They’re… in our heads?”

Cor grunted unhappily. “Disembodied voices. Spirits. But they can possess the bodies of those that came before.”

It hollowed out Ignis’ stomach at the same time Prompto jolted. “What’s to stop them possessing us?”

“It won’t come to that,” Cor replied, but fell short of assurance.

For a while longer Prompto refused to budge. He cowered, a tremor overtaking his frame. “But…” he swallowed again. “I don’t think-”

Nudging his shoulder very gently against Prompto’s, Ignis hummed in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. “Don’t be afraid,” he murmured, taking a leaf from Cor’s book. It was easier said than done - the shambling sounds of the haywire MT’s amongst the keep’s halls had been terrifying enough, especially paired with the tactile overstimulation of running and hiding where there was scarcely room to breathe. The living dead was a whole new horror. “We’re here. And if Gladio alone has gotten past them, we together won’t struggle. Alright?”

Uncertainty lingered. They had faced nothing like this before and Ignis didn’t blame Prompto for faltering. Ignis felt much the same. The only thing that kept him going was concern and spite, both twisted in equal measure.

But Prompto shook his head hard. He sent away the doubt and pain. “Okay,” he said, and with a tug of his hand, ventured onwards.

Cor had gotten ahead. His strides were purposeful and bold. Ignis knew his weapon was drawn and poised. It wasn’t faithful, wasn’t suited to his hand, but Cor hadn’t trained endlessly to still carry weaknesses. He was deadly with anything. Ignis followed his lead, fumbling for his dagger in turn.

The path turned steep. There was something soft beneath Ignis’ feet – ash, he thought, but the smell of blood refused to budge. Something cracked into pieces beneath his feet. “There’s another trial chamber,” Cor explained, and Ignis bowed his head further this time as they slipped into the room.

It felt much the same. There was an aching oddity in the room, the sense of a cacophonous battle only shortly fallen silent. Ignis swore he could still hear the ringing of a blade in his ear. “Gladio,” he said to himself.

_He amuses,_ a new voice said in a sudden rush of wind. _But does he impress?_

Ignis looked up as if to meet their eyes. “He’s further ahead?”

_Beyond your grasp,_ it informed him and Ignis could imagine a sly curve of their lips. _The Blademaster will deal with him swiftly – and you will intrude no further. You’ll not see your companion again._

Prompto’s hand clenched around Ignis’. “We will,” he insisted, even as his voice wavered and wobbled. Ignis’ own chest dipped and ached. “We’ll see him.”

_You have spirit – and no sense. No respect your forebears. You’ll not make it through._

Frustration built so far into Ignis’ chest it spilled up into his throat, escaping his mouth without his say so. “I’ll go where I will,” Ignis insisted, scowling. “You’ll not stop me.”

Laughter tried to overtake him. A dozen separate voices found his will hysterical and it only threw fuel onto Ignis’ blazing fire. _Try as you might!_

“You’ll not stop me,” Ignis insisted with a jut of his chin, filled with all his rage and wrath. He cast aside Prompto’s hands and surged forward. “You can’t stop me!”

Immediately Cor was upon him, but he was a second too late. Ignis followed the sound of the wind with his father hot on his heels. “Ignis,” he called after him, fraught with panic, and Ignis stumbled out of the chamber.

There was nowhere to go but Ignis forced himself forward with the laughter ringing in his ears. But just paces beyond the archway there was nothing below his feet. He scrambled, heart stopping, and plunged into the void in a matter of seconds.

It was a sharp drop and a sudden stop. Ignis’ shoulder struck the stone hard enough to jar his teeth. Pain bloomed across his body and it was hard enough work to coil up into a defensive ball, limbs slow on the uptake. “Shit,” he cursed, and his mind blanked out for too long. “Shit.”

Above him someone was scrambling. Cor yelled for him, throwing himself down after his son without a second thought. He landed a bit awkward, grunting hard underneath his own weight, and hands touched Ignis’ shoulders too harshly. “Are you alright? Ignis?”

A wave of nausea rolled throughout his body. Ignis grit his teeth against it. With time his mind very gradually became to clear but he was positive that he was going to be sick. _I’m fine,_ he tried to say, but gagged around the pain.

“Fuck,” Cor said, and Ignis’ teeth were numb. He got the idea and let Ignis go quickly, hands hoovering. “Where does it hurt?”

_Everywhere._ The worst of it was centred in his shoulders and hips. Thankfully, his gloves had protected him from the worst of scrapes, thermals protecting him from fraying jeans. He planted his hand against the floor and tried to push himself up, but everything protested, screaming with pain.

The worst part of his indignity was the laughter. The voices were watching, delighting in his pain, and high above Prompto yelled. It was hard to pull apart through the pulse of his new headache and the wash of wind. Each of his hairs stood stark on end, like electric coursed through his body – a familiar sense of magic that he couldn’t understand.

“Dad!” Prompto said sharply, and Cor swore.

“Sorry,” he grunted and pulled Ignis up into his arms. A stabbing pain agitated his skull and the frame of his shoulders, bones aching. Ignis gasped sharply, protesting his father’s touch, but Cor refused to let him go. “Sorry – it’s too dangerous. I need to get you out of the way.”

His back rest against the stone he had fallen from. Ignis gasped, rasping and clutching himself, trying hardest to avoid worsening the sting. A rattling filled his ear, a dreadful rasping hiss, and something scraped against the soil.

“Stay back,” Cor ordered with one last touch against Ignis’ cool cheek. “You stay here, you hear me?”

Everything was foggy. Ignis had no sense of where he lay, feeling across the dirt in a desperate attempt to orient himself. As overwhelming as Cor’s touch had been, he missed it. Still he couldn’t speak.

A loud pop broke his reprieve. Ignis started, almost snapping out of his daze. Voices rang out, others clearer than most, and the pops – gunshots, Ignis knew with a cold clarity – rang out again and again.

Horrible noises filled the air. A sword clashing against armour and the guttural sounds of a beast. Fabric tore and Cor yelled, slashing and crushing what sounded like splintering wood underfoot. Ignis could place none of it. The throbbing in his head was too much.

He wanted to help. He needed to help. Instead he curled his legs closer, pulling them in tight. And with time the brief battle was done, the intensity of the magic in no way lessened, and Prompto leapt down, gun still in his hand. “Are you okay?”

Remaining silent, he turned his head to press his cheek against the cold stone. It was bracing enough to calm him, magic crackling upon his tongue.

Prompto was not content. “Iggy? Can you hear me?”

Grunting, Ignis managed to barely nod his head. The shame ran at full pelt. “Yes. Yes, I can.”

“Stay down,” Prompto said, but Ignis straightened as best he could. His spine protested and the world spun. “Iggy, come on. Stop moving.”

“What were you shooting?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Prompto said hurriedly, hands bracing his shoulders, but Ignis shrugged him away with a wince.

“What was it?” He insisted, fighting against him and the isolation he promised he wouldn’t continue. “Don’t shut me out again. Tell me.”

The hesitance was clear. Prompto’ words stuck to his tongue, reluctant, but from across the way Cor swore – loudly, colourfully. “We have to go,” Cor insisted. “They’re getting back up.”

Ignis’ heart skipped a beat. The feeling it left behind was awful and uncanny. “What is?”

In lieu of answer Prompto seized his hand. “Sorry,” he said reluctantly and hauled Ignis to his feet. The world tipped dangerously on its already unfortunate axis. Pain splintered along his shoulder – there was something wrong with it, he was sure. He tried very hard not to think about it. “We have to – we have to go. Stick close, okay?”

Still Ignis was breathless. Sucking in old air he pressed against the ache in his chest. Something skittered across the floor, the magic droning on. “Alright,” he said, fumbling for his dagger with his good hand. “Alright, I-”

There was no time to finish. Prompto hauled him out and through the pitch black. Ignis stumbled endlessly over stone and the dips and slopes of the floor and it was a miracle that Ignis did not fall once. His body complained all the while and half numb fingers almost lost his blade.

Something snatched for his wrist. It almost curled around him, tugging, but Prompto was enviously quick on his feet. Ignis was gone in no time at all, almost smacking his head cleanly on a shelf of low hanging rock. Only Prompto’s last minute cry of _duck_ saved him.

It was better to not bother asking where they were going. Ignis would find out in the end. As they slipped deeper and deeper into hostile territory, they blundered uncomfortably loudly. They would be followed, Ignis was sure, as surely as if they had fired a flare into the sky. Their sole good fortune was the absence of the voices, but Ignis remembered Cor’s solemn warning and he could never become too comfortable.

And the sense of old magic never faltered. It felt threatening as well as familiar. Like Ignis was leading the retreat as Noctis surged forward with his blink, Gladio and Prompto holding up to rear. Their footsteps clattered and scuffed through winding deeps, Prompto swearing under his panting breath all the while.

They could only run so far with pain splitting Ignis’ body, and sure enough Prompto came to a screeching halt as Cor stopped without a word. He threw out his arm to stop Ignis, whose lungs burnt. “What is it,” he asked, sensing their pursuers not far behind, and when he stepped forward to locate and shake Cor’s shoulders, he stepped into moonlight.

It was blissfully light. It brought Ignis a strange form of comfort, still able to sense the changes in the world. He assumed they had come out into the stretch of the gorge again, the jagged world unimaginably high above. He angled his head forward and up, temporarily distracted.

The pleasant feeling didn’t last for long. Cor had frozen for a reason that wasn’t shared. Ignis probed him, uncomfortable at the clattering behind them. “Shouldn’t we keep going?”

“There’s no point,” Cor said, and the Marshal stood in place of Ignis’ father. “They’ll only pursue us, and there’s far more danger ahead. Ignis – can you fight?”

Prompto made a sharp noise of protest but it fell away as quickly as it came. Some impulses were hard to shake. Ignis nodded eagerly. “Yes,” he said, even when lost. The image he had in his mind’s eye of where they stood was poor and Ignis couldn’t even comprehend their foe. “Yes. What is it?”

Quickly Prompto began to fumble with his gun. He reloaded as hurriedly as he could. “I don’t… I don’t…”

“Then can be beaten – we did so once, and we can again,” he urged them, voice remarkably calm. Ignis had no idea how he did it to this day. “I spoke about the voices, and the remains of the dead. They’re pursuing us.”

It felt like a nightmare. Ignis shook his head to chase away the thought, as if hoping this had all been one long, agonizing dream. “The dead? Truly?”

“Those who are still with us, held here by magic,” Cor corrected firmly. “They can be brought down like any other.”

“This is insane,” Ignis replied, hands clammy and awkward against the hilt of his dagger. A chance to prove his worth, come in the strangest of circumstances. “You were fighting the dead?”

“And we’ll do it again,” Cor said, and guided Ignis backwards. “We’re in the middle of an open space – about twenty feet apart. You won’t fall – there’s a rim, but don’t go too far out. Okay?”

He drummed his fingers against the hilts. _Relax,_ he told himself. It was easier said than done. A battle could never claim his wits but often inflamed his nerves. “Okay. Okay.”

Nonetheless, Ignis struggled to breath. The stun of his fall had departed, washed away with adrenaline, but Ignis’ shoulder remained stiff, movement poor. Close combat was not something Ignis could commit to, feasibly, and he was reluctant to send daggers flying within the fray.

Without thinking Ignis took several sharp steps backwards. A tongue ran across his lips, painfully dry. There was scurrying and scuffling coming from ahead, bones working beneath half ruined flesh, and Ignis wanted to be sick.

Another step, and Ignis stumbled backwards onto the bridge. It went unnoticed, each preoccupied with the coming dangers, until the direction of the wind suddenly changed.

High above there was a wicked screech and for one uncanny heartbeat the moonlight was blotted out. A shadow crossed them, unbelievably quick and large, and Ignis’ heart sank as heavy wings beat hard.

Casting his head up, there was nothing but moonlight. “What on Eos is happening now,” He stressed, weary to his bones, and Cor’s rumbling growl suffered the same.

In a heartbeat Ignis was damn near scruffed. Prompto’s own complaints joined Ignis and they were hauled backwards, backs pressed against the columns. Cor spread his arms across their chests, forcing them back. “It’s landing,” Cor had to yell over the current of the disturbed wind. “Stay back-”

The dust picked up and Ignis turned his head and closed his eyes to escape it. The landing of the beast made the very ground shake, enough for Ignis to fear rocks falling loose and taking out the bridge. A shrieking made Ignis’ courage falter and claws clicked against stone.

“Enkidu,” Cor said, as if it meant anything to their ears. “It’s – it’s scared off the skeletons, at least. We can take this down. Easy.”

Ignis wasn’t quite so convinced. But Cor’s arms were gone and Ignis hadn’t the moment to catch his breath. He could barely hold onto his mental image of the bridge, feet uncertainly planted.

Enkidu was a huge beast. Ignis could make head nor tails of it, a beast with scraping claws and a long tail that dragged, wings that still beat. The sounds it made were almost reptilian, clicks and purrs. It circled north of him, no doubt watching cautiously before it struck, but Ignis prepared himself for action at a moment’s notice.

Prompto leaned against him, body half protecting his. “It’s… it looks like it’s made of fire,” he said, voice uncomfortably strained. “If you have any ice magic – it’d be useful.”

“Your ice bullets,” Ignis reminded him. “If you take the face – or if I can freeze the limbs-”

Prompto nodded eagerly. “Okay,” he said, as if convincing himself. “Okay,” and he leapt into action.

They acted noisily for Ignis’ benefit. Friendly fire was not something they could afford when it came to magic. Cor veered off to his right, taking the hindquarters to avoid fang and claw and Prompto maintained his distance and played as distraction, always surehanded. Ignis remained further back, waiting for his chance.

Ignis was not so sure their audience was gone, and so he refused to falter. He circled and listened intently, reaching for the depths of his lingering power. Enkidu was a shapeless mass as he tracked it with every sense available to him, letting the numbness return. Quickly he peeled off his gloves, shoving them in his jacket pocket, hoping they wouldn’t be lost to him.

_Loan me your power,_ he asked, half begged to a man who no longer stood by his side and swallowed the pain that rose like bile.

Shots rang out freely. They were awfully loud in the wide space and Ignis swore that the Astrals themselves could hear. Enkidu yowled and scratched its way across the stone, struggling to throw them off their feet with wild beats of its wings, and Cor yelled as he lashed out, always quick on his feet but lumbered, unused to the weight of his sword.

Something crackled and popped, burning chill with the same intensity that overtook Ignis’ hands. Elemental bullets struck Ekindu’s flank and Ignis almost bore sympathy for the poor thing as it bellowed with pain and rage.

Ignis bided his time, waiting for the element to spread and intensify, but Enkidu took to the skies before he could hasten. Something flared up, flames still flickering, and Cor shouted out to them. “Get back! Now!”

When Cor ordered something so serious, you obeyed without question. Ignis leapt backwards immediately, unable to keep track of his companions, and Enkidu struck the ground with all the weight of a freight train. The world tremored but a blast rang out, twice as powerful, and Ignis felt the surge of heat upon his face. It came unnervingly close, harsh against Ignis’ temple and enough for him to sweat. It receded as soon as it came but only barely, and Ignis’ anxiety would not let him be. “Is everyone alright?”

While he coughed feebly, Prompto was quick to hop to his feet. “Yeah,” he said, croaking.

“Alive,” Cor grit, closer to Ignis’ side than he thought. “Casting magic?”

It was like shards of ice in his chest. He was ready. “Prompto,” he called, and he scrambled as fast as he could.

There was no wasting time. With a sharp flick of his wrist Ignis cast his dagger forward, praying it found its mark, and the other flew just seconds behind.

Fortuitously, both hit their mark. Ignis’ heart soared, and Enkidu bellowed, furious and wounded, and then the ice expanded and cracked quicker than Ignis could breathe.

Ignis couldn’t see the affect it had on the smoulders that Enkidu had created. In any other circumstance it would have been fascinating. The ice spread far and wide, a terrible sound like the crunching of thick plastic, extinguishing lingering flame. It clung to Ignis’ boots. Suddenly his sweat was cold to the touch, chilly against his temple.

As always Prompto was lightning quick. He took a moment to steady his hands, squinting one eye, and fired two bullets, one right after the other.

A terrible and yet satisfying sound followed. Enkidu was struck and winded enough to strike the floor, writhing, and the ice gave way. It trigger another sharp expansion, the shattering of the crystals, and few beasts could survive the wicked chill and Prompto’s deadly aim.

With his daggers gone it was near enough all Ignis could do to hope. He stumbled backwards, shying away from casting magic from his hands if avoidable. It was easily done but the numbing could claim him entirely and leave his hand permanently scarred and strained.

It was not to be. “It’s still coming,” Prompto yelled, firing again, but Enkidu was simply enraged by the bullets. Some of them missed in Prompto’s anxiety, striking the bridge.

“Stay away,” Cor commanded but threw himself into his fight as always. His sword met flesh, Ignis was sure. Cor was quick to strike and move beyond reach, knowing he would be able to take a single blow from a beast, and struck again and again. Enkidu grew furious, pained, but never took to the sky.

If they were fortunate, Prompto had taken out a wing. Enkidu would be dangerously thrown off balance. Ignis wished he carried a polearm to assist, but with any luck a handful of bullets and a deadly strike would be more than enough to persist.

All the while the cold crawled determinedly along Ignis’ arm. It took hold of his wounded shoulder. It numbed the remaining ache but grew stiff. With a hiss he kneaded the joint, eyes wary. Rolling it hard, struggling to keep it limber, he paced cautious semi circles at the foot of the bridge.

Ice and soft snow turned to slick water beneath boots and claws. A winter cold settled in for the long haul, wetness against Ignis’ eyelids. “Careful,” Ignis said, knowing he was close to useless.

If they still carried flasks Ignis would have limited the risk. They had a small stock of them, at home, and Ignis cursed himself for not thinking. The loss of a good arm with little technology or talent remaining outside of Insomnia to replace it was a prosthetic as good as Cor’s would be too steep a cost.

Across the way, Enkidu grew enraged. It screamed loud enough to bring the gorge down around them. Thrashing and clawing at air, desperate to catch someone within its grasp, it pushed against the floor in an attempt to gain momentum. A single wing beat hard and Ignis could hear there was something wrong – the flesh torn, he thought, one wing rendered immobile. Enkidu could only rise up on its hind legs, big enough to threaten crushing them all, blotting out the light –

More fire, Ignis knew, and he acted without thinking.

He threw his hand forward, gathering all the might left to him. It would sap all of his strength, cutting deep, but he forced himself to act.

The magic was fleeting, but more powerful from his secondary source. It was fuelled by the power loaned to him, inspired by his deep emotion, and in his early years Ignis had not been comfortable with the innate power to destroy. It had quickly transpired that Ignis had a blooming talent in elemental magics, the power to sustain and survive like no other. Precious few could cast from nothing at all. Crowe had looked upon him fondly, guiding his uncertain hands and pushed him to limits that would have demolished any other, and always had a juice box and a biscuit waiting after their time had come to an end.

Ignis was capable of so much more now. Despite it all, he was still a force of nature at his core. It was unnerving. But it was electrifying.

Ice exploded from the tips of his fingers, tracing a path amongst the ground. It surged through like a crack in stone, deepening and an ugly black mess, and it sealed around Enkidu’s feet and ankles. Startled, Enkidu fought against the grasp. It tugged and wailed, uselessly, but its front feet remained free.

Someone took the opportunity offered to them. They moved boldly and slammed into Enkidu’s form, shoulders first. A harsh grunt rung out and a fist beat against flesh, a sword cleaving, and Ignis could imagine Cor in his mind’s eye, furious and feral. Prompto was never so physical.

But a stranger came closer, slipping already on the ice and water, and seized his shoulders. “It’s done,” Cor said, and Ignis reeled, looking sightlessly between his father and the wailing beast. “Abandon the magic. Quickly – your hands-”

So distracted, so wearied, the ability was escaping him. With the frigid temperatures there was no warmth to embrace him, but Cor clasped his forearm close and made sure they were safe and warmed. Prompto savaged Enkidu mercilessly, perhaps having swept up Ignis’ daggers –

But Prompto shrank in closer, teeth chattering, gasping. He huddled for shared warmth and Ignis started, already accepting a truth that he had yet to recognise.

With a familiar and triumphant yell it was Gladiolus who finished their battle. Enkidu breathed its last, furious and weakening, barely able to break free of Ignis’ ice. Within seconds there was the sickening sound of a blade sinking into flesh, something torn apart, and a body slammed into the ground to lie silent and still.

Everyone panted heavily. The warmth was a far-off dream, but Cor was relentless, his flesh and blood hand rubbing at Ignis’ skin, uncaring of how the cold infected him. Ignis barely felt it and stared out towards Enkidu’s corpse with his heart in his mouth. Cor was silent, shaking from exertion, and Prompto shook all the worse from some indescribable emotion.

“Thought it might have been you out here,” Gladio said, humourless and aged beyond his years, and the silence stretched on.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> end of the road! thank you so much for sticking around and i really hope you enjoyed <3
> 
> thank you again to sanj (@kidgrayson on twitter, and kidgraysonx on tumblr) for the creation and use of the art at the bottom of the fic for the story, and thank you again for working with me!

With the clamour of battle long faded and the silence untenable, Gladio let his blade clatter to the ground.

Metal rang in Ignis’ ears. It took a long while to falter into nothing, rebounding in the wide and almost utterly empty cavern, and the magic that thrived on the air and within his skin was close to driving Ignis to despair. It rest thick and heavy upon his tongue, something sparking at the very tip, and Ignis was fuelled only by adrenaline and dread.

This was not a feeling that Ignis had prepared for. Something awful sat upon his shoulders. His chest bore a fit, the familiar knotted feeling of worry that had plagued him all his life but a thousand times worse and each of them were stunningly silent. Ignis wondered if they were all left helpless in their own longing and loss. Ignis panted still, unable to catch his breath, and no one knew how to begin.

It was Gladio who spoke first. “Sorry I took your things. I’ve got it here. You’re welcome to it all.”

It was enough to make Ignis tremble. Her voice seemed lower, deeper, unfamiliar to Ignis’ memory. But it was without question Gladiolus – one piece of his heart, gone astray. He was humourless and dire, strong and without affection, and after everything Ignis’ heart still openly ached for him like life was still that simple.

“I understand,” Cor said, and Ignis savoured his tone. Like he was soothing one of his wounded soldiers, curing their worst ailment despite the pain it caused. “But it’s not what we came for.”

Gladio’s laugh was still beautiful even despite how strained it had become. “You’ll have better luck with the sword, I think.”

It was satisfying to stand without the whispers barraging them all. Even so Ignis still could not think clearly. He sought Gladio in the cold and dark, blood filling his mouth. He wondered if Gladio watched him closely, surprised by his presence even the slightest bit. Through everything he must have been a frightful sight. Perhaps the corpses were a finer view than him.

It was difficult but Ignis stepped forward. This ended now. “This is a fool’s errand,” he called, voice wavering. He had intended for it to be firm. “It’s time for us to leave this place, Gladio – we did not risk our lives for the fun of it all.”

Only silence met him. Perhaps Gladio surveyed him or avoided his eye. He had never quite been able to meet Ignis’ gaze when he lied or spoke an uncomfortable truth. It was easy when it came to others – there was something undeniably special about Ignis.

“I’ve come this far,” he said finally, simply. “Not gonna turn back now.”

It was classic Gladio and it was infuriating. Brisk and immovable, a force of nature, and Ignis loved and loathed him. Still, he could not dissuade his sheer relief at being in his company.

“We are too old and tired to play games, I think,” he replied, more curtly than he had intended, and Gladio laughed again. It picked up Ignis’ shoulders, infuriated at his dismissiveness.

No other reply came. But Gladio’s joints popped, a grunt escaping him, and his boots scuffed dust and filth. He simply hummed, with seemingly no more to say.

Some brushed past Ignis’ left. “Why didn’t you say anything to us,” Prompto asked with the same dissonance as when he had first spoken to Ignis. The memory was not a kind one. “Why did you leave?”

It was a sour look at his past. Ignis remembered that pain directed at him, born of fear and doubt. He loneliness had seeped deeply into Prompto’s soul, the nagging thought that two of his most cherished friends had willingly left him for weeks on end. Ignis hung his head, ashamed.

His regret only intensified as Gladio immediately performed as he should – where Ignis had faltered. “I’m sorry for that,” he said, and his shame was paramount. “But would you have let me go?”

“No,” Prompto said indignantly, and it was almost enough to make Ignis laugh. “Because this is stupid, and you know it.”

Gladio scoffed at him. “Thanks. Appreciated.”

“Iris has been freaking out,” Prompto offered no reprieve. It was clear none was deserved. “And Talcott, and Amais – all of us. All so you could sulk around Lucis and prove how big your muscles are?”

That struck a sensitive mark. Ignis had sunk in and twisted his blade there countless times – too many times. “If you don’t understand this, don’t show your ass,” Gladio grunted. “I’m not here to explain myself to you. Different perspectives. So you go your way, and I’ll go mine. Alright?”

“I know why you’re here,” Cor interrupted smoothly. “Ignis is correct. It’s a fool’s errand, and I know this better than most. Listen to your family.”

“Is that true?” Gladio mused. “The way I heard it from Dad is that you were a real asshole. Piss and vinegar, he said. And after you came here something changed. You mellowed out and got stronger. Ain’t that right?”

Cor grunted. “You’ve spent years with all manner of Crownsguard, and you still think you can trust the embellished tales of a man in his cups?”

“I don’t trust anything these days,” Gladio replied without missing a beat. “Fact and fiction ain’t what they used to be.”

A small laugh made Cor’s shoulders shake. “Can’t argue with that,” he said. “And even ghosts have come out to play tonight. You know the dangers within the Inner Sanctum – and still you came.”

“Mm,” Gladio hummed, endlessly coy. Ignis had always loved that – all his teasing wit and wisdom had drawn Ignis to Gladio’s side. Loyalty, kindness, beauty – that was what made him stay. “I know my father shunned the calls to take the Trial. I’m not here to argue whether he was right or wrong. I’m here to see once and for all if I’m worthy.”

“Worthy,” Cor repeated, weary of the world the same way Ignis was. He felt the exhaustion all the way to his bones.

Some fanciful concepts had haunted them all. Ignis had shaken away the drearier fragments – the need to take a wife and sire a child, for one, and Ignis laughed away the rumours that endlessly flew in response. Others clung on stubbornly, limpets upon the bow of a ship that scarcely noticed them.

Whether or not an immigrant boy was suitable to serve. If a child was weak, or if those of common blood were worthy to walk within the halls of the Citadel. Such claims and insults had dogged them their whole lives, even Gladio in small instances, and Ignis cursed his damnable pride. It was easy to rouse Gladio’s passion and Ignis had faced them head on countless times, in meetings, in bed, and Ignis cursed his love for him.

He had never loved pride’s bedfellows – spite, wrath, and it had torn them apart in the end.

 _No longer_ , he told himself, and stepped once more into the wavering firelight.

“The games of adults are games nonetheless,” he declared, and his voice rebounded. Like he spoke within the throne room once again, where he – where they were supposed to be, and he prayed that Gladio would see sense. “No more. Come back with us. See sense and come home.”

A long silence was heavy upon Ignis’ shoulders. Nothing resounded beyond. The cave itself waited with bated breath. _See sense. See sense, like I did, and come home. It won’t be complete without you._

Rocks cracked and sank beneath Gladio’s weight as he came forward. Ignis drew up to his full height, on guard. He showed Gladio his chin, ready for a clash, and wishing this wasn’t his innate response to his lover’s presence. Ignis wondered where things had gone so wrong between them and found a dozen potential answers.

With a thoughtful air Gladio came to a stop in front of him. When he spoke his voice was unbearably soft. “Will you be there?”

It was the only question that Ignis wasn’t prepared for. He blanched and hesitated, mind forced into a blank slate. “Well,” he began, with no path to continue.

The question had become a deadly weapon, a neglected sword. It hung over the heads of not only the two of them, but their patchwork family, their unending future. Even in all their time searching Ignis had not spent a moment thinking of what he might say. There were many things he wanted to say – many of them risks, and several deeply unfair – and Ignis held those back easily, unwilling to further tear open already infected wounds.

A chase across Lucis was no cure for their ills. Slinking back to Lestallum together like nothing had ever happened would be even more venom in their blood stream. Leaving was a fool’s errand and he saw that easily now, but still he carried pain and rage and trepidation of forgiving only for his loved ones to make the same mistakes. Gladio’s fondness was not well received, with the future of their bond uncertain, but Ignis swallowed and stayed his hand a moment longer.

Caem was cold. Ignis’ bed was cold, and his heart hungry. His family was all the hope he needed in the days before, a cold compress against a shallow cut. With Gladio by his side the unit would be whole again – trusting, and loving, with a little work.

Gods, Ignis was desperate to be loved again. His affection had waned, but never left, and he could only hope that Gladio felt the same.

“Yes,” Ignis said, painfully earnest and vulnerable again all for the good of the future, of his heart, praying that Gladio would meet him halfway.

It was disarming to feel all the tension leak out of Gladio all at once. Heavy shoulders slumped hard. “Thank you,” he said, so gruff and so familiar that it warmed Ignis’ blood. “Thank you, Ignis.”

Hope was a new feeling. It was warmth and reassurance in his belly after weeks of starvation. “Come home, Gladio. Your family misses you.”

For the first time in weeks Ignis felt Gladio’s touch. His hands were huge and hot, faithful, and kindly upon Ignis’ bicep. Ignis could have quaked at the sensation. He sighed, own shoulders releasing with a freed burden at long last, and Gladio said. “I’m sorry.”

All of a sudden, his touch turned scalding. Ignis recoiled from him. “What?”

“I can’t go home,” Gladio said, voice unwavering but newly miserable. “Not until I know that I’m worthy.”

Disbelief filled him. The vaguest glimpse of a brighter future fell back into shadow, tormented. “Why? What on Eos is this, Gladio? You know the dangers, surely.”

“This is a test,” Gladio said and his hand was gone. “I need to know if I’m strong enough to serve as Shield. Need to know if I can protect you all, and safeguard Eos. I need to be sure.”

It was incomprehensible. Ignis seized him, a man possessed. He shook Gladio’s shoulders roughly. “What does that mean? What’s wrong with you?”

With his hands upon Gladio, Ignis only suffered all the more. With his scent suddenly overpowering – the stench of sweat and leather, and nothing more than strain and suffering – Ignis was consumed. Even more so when Gladio took Ignis’ hands away but refused to let go. His hands were as blessedly, cursedly bare as Ignis’. They were so warm that Ignis almost gasped but refused to embarrass himself, even as he sought Gladio’s heat.

Gladio held onto him with the gentleness that Ignis had come to love and loathe. Ignis had adored how Gladio cradled his face so reverently and always made to kiss him soon after, nuzzling against his mouth with an easy smile. By its side Ignis hated how Gladio had held him back so many times, struggling with him when Ignis wanted nothing more to reach for his blades and train, to stand confidently again. He had come dangerously close to scarring Gladio’s face in his fury too many times to bear.

It was then that Ignis knew he could stomach no more of such treatment. By the week’s end he had fled, and their sorry tale began. The ending seemed no less tragic.

“Ignis,” Gladio mumbled, for his ears only. His fingers dared lace with their own. It took Ignis’ breath away. “I have to do this. There is no choice. I’m sorry.”

“You’re not sorry,” Ignis hissed but couldn’t bear to snatch himself away. The pressure was enthralling. “Running around all of Lucis – breaking into our car – such foolishness. Arrogance, even. There is no excuse. And now you try to placate me?”

In the back of his mind Ignis wondered how Gladio watched him. Angry, perhaps, or defeated. His face was always so fond and beautiful. Ignis adored the chance to kiss his smile. An impulse rung out in his chest to pull him close and shake the stupidity out of him. “Ignis,” he said in that insufferably calm voice.

Ignis acted first. Snatching himself away he pushed his hands roughly against Gladio’s chest, hot with frustration. It killed him to stand sightlessly. “Don’t,” he burst. “Don’t you dare-”

Once Gladio took hold of his wrists, Ignis failed, faltering. “Don’t,” he said again, pain twisting in a plea.

“I wanna talk to you, alone,” Gladio said, just for his ears. “Please. Can I…?”

Ignis glowered at him. His jaw was tense. “Why?”

“Please,” he said again, so newly pathetic that Ignis wilted. He had always been so weak for Gladio – all his godsdamn life.

With a grunt, Ignis turned his head. An audience for this would only make it so much worse. Whatever Gladio needed to tell him in private, Ignis was sure it couldn’t be good. “A moment,” he said to his companions. “Please.”

Both hesitated. They didn’t move for a beat but Prompto shuffled from foot to foot, unhappy. “Well…but-”

“Please,” Ignis said again, strained, and Cor sighed.

“We’ll be across the way,” he said despite their shared clear reluctance. Ignis remained silent as Cor retreated, pace slow and shuffling, and Prompto followed seconds after.

There was little privacy left for them. It would have to be enough. Gladio was the sole thing that remained to him, sturdy and strong, and Ignis refused to let him slip away like this. Reaching for Gladio again, hands curling tight into Gladio’s thick biceps, he chased away the wonderful memories such a position brought.

The tang of sweat intensified. Gladio’s breath was warm against his cheeks. Helpless, he could only turn openly into his embrace. _How dare you,_ he struggled to say. Instead, he breathed unsteadily, unable to bear it.

“Why,” he asked again, dreaming of Gladio’s stubble against his cheek. “Whatever can we gain from this?”

For a moment longer Gladio seemed to bask in him. He breathed him in deeply, sighing, hands ever clinging. When he spoke, his voice was raw. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

Still Ignis couldn’t bear to let him go. He dreamed of feeling his thumping heart, pounding through his leathers. “You will be,” he said, voice shaking.

Somehow Gladio managed a mangled laugh. It ghosted against Ignis’ ear. Ignis was proud that he withheld his shiver. “I should have been better for you. I know it’s too late and that you may never forgive me – and I understand that. But I wanna apologise – for everything.”

In the new quiet his skin prickled. Gladio’s voice was mesmerising, low, and enough to make the ground tremble. Ignis’ lips parted around nothing.

Gladio surged ahead. “When you left, I…” he swallowed. “I was angry. So angry, and I wanted to drag you home. Tore up Lucis searching. Filled my boots with blood. But… well. There wasn’t anything for it. You left for a reason, Cor said. You didn’t want to see any of us, nestled up in Caem. And I took that real personal.”

 _Of course,_ Ignis thought, sour, and Gladio forged onwards. “And I sat there for days. With my anger, and all my pain. My loss, and it dug in deep. Dozens of questions – why you had left, why you fought so hard. When you’d be back. The facts, and then – why did I treat you like that? Why did I focus my anger on you – and whether you could forgive me. I stopped sleeping with the worry. I didn’t know if you were safe. If you were warm or eating. I was terrified for you, Ignis.”

“I can care for myself,” Ignis shot back.

“I know,” Gladio said and that had been said a dozen times before. Impatiently most of all, drenched with fury all too often, spiking Ignis’ hurt and anger. They had clashed so many times. Slammed doors, sulking in silence, and Ignis never had anticipated the end of their lives together this way.

Tonight, Gladio spoke with newfound tenderness. It felt as if it had been forever since Ignis had last heard them. He missed those fond words against his ear so sorely. “I know. I can see that now. You held your own against Enkidu – and proved that I was the asshole. Undoubtably. I never ever wanted you to think that you were useless, or in any way lesser just because of what happened to you. I’m sorry, Ignis - with all my heart.”

Beyond Ignis’ loved ones were silent and wholly forgotten. Ignis could only focus entirely on Gladio’s endless warmth. With his chest so firm and strong Ignis couldn’t bear to push him away, lured in by the power of his presence alone. After everything Ignis could kid himself they were alone at last, whole at last, and still the world became no clearer- but it became just that little bit easier. An earnest apology was something Ignis had begun to think he would never receive. Gladio was good at passing _sorry’s_ , the beauty of a grand and distracting gesture to refuel their romance, but Ignis needed the recognition of where their paths had divulged.

“You were,” Ignis told him.

Ignis hoped he wore shame above all else. Regret wasn’t enough for him yet. “I made so many mistakes,” Gladio said. “I’m sorry.”

Trying the last of his luck, Gladio’s hands moved to rest just north of Ignis’ waist. It was impossible to put into words how much Ignis had missed that careful touch, hesitant but longing. Ignis wished he could kiss him still or have his back surely stroked the way he loved best.

“I’m sorry, Ignis,” Gladio breathed again with his head hung against the crook of his shoulder. The stench of sweat and muck they carried no longer mattered.

It was a heavy task to swallow around the lump stuck firmly in his throat. Breathing was beyond him. “Thank you,” Ignis wheezed, free again in every way that mattered most, and with that Gladio pulled him in for an embrace.

In turn Ignis cast and sealed his arms around Gladio’s shoulders. They gasped together, overwhelmed by their embrace. It had been so long – they were lost in a dark metal fortress the last they had been together in such a way. Frantic, afraid. Their limbs tangled and ached and Ignis clutched him closer, closer, seeking Gladio’s warmth. _I love you,_ he had urged, _I love you,_ and that had been the beginning of the end.

They shared a similar intimacy together a half dozen more times only. For lust, or stress relief. Often out of a misguided sense of affection. Ignis always swore he loved Gladio and it was true, always, and even still. There were countless things that Ignis adored about him – even his stubborn nature – but it had become too much in the end. He could only hear infantilisation for so long. Cooking and waiting and warming a bed was not all Ignis was good for.

Gladio had never said these words. Never had he even implied them. But Ignis spiralled deeper into his darkened mind, sensitive to all rejection and pre-disposed to presumption and wrath. Every time Gladio kissed his cheek and left him behind in the darkness Ignis was consumed by it, until he could no longer think clearly.

The fog of his mind settled in deep. And then he was gone without a thought, restless feet carrying him south to the coastline, where he rotted.

Home was warm. Home was safe, and Ignis too was sorry beyond words. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “Come home. Let us move forward. Toward the dawn.”

Against him Gladio gave a great heaving shudder. He felt not unlike an electric current. A great hand flattened against the small of his back, wonderful and soothing.

They could enjoy the quiet. But it only lasted a moment.

“I can’t,” Gladio said, soft into Ignis’ ear.

The ice had gathered and set in deep, crystalline against his bones. Immediately he pulled away. Gladio’s arms were deeply unwilling to let him go free, but they allowed him, nonetheless. “Why not?”

“I have to,” Gladio told him and steel was in the undercurrent of his tone. “I need to know if I can protect my family and see our king’s destiny through.”

There were too many emotions left to run amok to reign Ignis’ heart in its entirety. “Gladiolus,” he said, lost and seeking Gladio’s scruffy cheek against his, left untamed and to grow chafing. He shook his head against Ignis’ palm.

“I need this,” he stressed, and a disgusting noise of contempt left Ignis’ throat.

“Gladiolus-”

“I need this,” he said again. “Not for pride, nor my honour – to hell with all of that. I just need this for me.” Steady, sure hands brushed up and along, holding his shoulder. “To regain my confidence – to know who I am and remember the duty that forges my path.”

Gladio’s hands had always been perfection. They were steady and blissfully warm, so good against Ignis’ tired frame. Somehow, they still soothed him, even as his heart raced. “Please,” Ignis tried again, even though at his core he knew it was no use. With the situations reversed Ignis would have walked the very same path. Love and loyalty drove them both. Each would walk through fire and steel for those they loved, and most of all, for each other. “It’s dangerous. We were never supposed to know of this place.”

A long sigh ruffled Ignis’ loose hair. Gladio needed to cradle him again. Ignis ached for it. “It’s our Trial. For men like me, and everything they carry. And if I don’t survive this, well…”

Silence. Gladio didn’t need to speak. A horror filled Ignis’ mind, a future he could not afford to entertain. They were a four. A perfect group left wounded with one loss, and limping through life. They could not afford to lose any more.

But Gladio was immovable. Ignis was silver tongued but one could not charm a mountain to little more than dust. “I must. My life is secondary against the good of the world, and it’s future. We’ve always known that.”

“We also believe that the sun would never falter,” he argued, sharpness void with how his voice wobbled, and it evoked nothing more than laughter.

Gladio finally released him. His hands drifted away so slowly as if they couldn’t bear it. The warmth drained away and even the sound drifted back once he was gone. Water ran deeper within the cave and Cor coughed; throat filled with dust. Enkidu lie still and the sense of magic was ever present. “Would you do something for me?”

There was no time to be suspicious. “Yes,” Ignis breathed.

Gladio was smiling. Ignis was sure of it. “Make up with your family for me,” he asked, voice satin soft. “I know times are tough and you’ve been through too much to be asked this, especially by me. But they adore you, Igs. You’re one of the lights of their life, and I know you love them too. Tell them you love and you missed them – for me?”

“Gods,” he breathed and scrubbed hard at his own face. The tears had not come yet, but they were not far. Everything Gladio said sounded painfully like a goodbye. “Yes. Yes, I will.”

They finally stood apart again. Ignis didn’t enjoy it. A part of him had parted his lips, longing for a kiss. But Gladio was reluctant to push his luck, it seemed.

With the moment past an awkwardness settled surely in. Gladio cleared his throat and raised his voice. “I don’t know if you’d want to stay. It’s… time for me to go. I don’t know… how long I’ll be, should the fight be in my favour.”

They had only just been reunited. It was a foul weight upon his shoulders to part again and a wicked ache. Every instinct called for Ignis to touch him, pull him in and hold him close. But Cor was upon them again, a protective father hovering at his son’s side before Ignis could speak. “No way I can talk you out of this, then?”

Gladio’s laughter echoed. “Could my dad have been able talk you out of it, way back when?”

Cor’s responding laugh was very weak. “Not at all.”

At his side Prompto’s breathing was laboured. He had always been quicker to tears than Ignis. His shoulders nudged his brother’s as he leaned forward. “Don’t go,” he tried, but Ignis knew it was hopeless.

Shuffling movement, and Prompto’s wavering sigh came as Gladio moved to hug him, squeezing fond and tight. They parted after a long moment and Ignis wondered if Prompto lingered the same way Ignis had. “I have to go,” he said simply.

Unhappiness filled all of them. All their effort and time and Ignis loathed that they were losing him so soon, and perhaps for too long. Cor voiced reason, knowing Ignis was clamming shut again. “We’ll wait for you, then,” he said. “Journey safe, Gladio – it’s not much further. Return to us in victory.”

They clasped their hands together. Judging Gladio’s tiny gasp of surprise Cor used the contact to pull him in for a hug – brief, but meaningful.

“I’m sorry,” Gladio said in response, newly bashful. Ignis wished he could see his sweetest trait – the way his ears burned when embarrassed. “I shouldn’t have taken your katana, but… I didn’t have any choice. Dad said you needed it to get inside.”

The sound that left Cor was a mix between a chuckle and the air that escaped one who took a blow to the stomach. It rang hollow. “Should have taken that stupid thing with me.”

“Sorry,” he said again, slumping with shame. “I didn’t think you’d catch up – I left it up ahead, near the doorway. Against the rocks.”

That was sorely needed relief for them all. For Ignis the katana was still a grand comfort. All his life Cor had cared greatly for his cherished weapon. He was cautious always, loathe to show off his collection of weapons when his boys were small. When they were grown, he was always perched with his faithful katana against his lap, caring for it always. Ignis would watch, enthralled, and it was good to feel Cor relax.

Still, it didn’t budge the awful tension of the air between them. “I’d cast that thing into the gorge if it meant I could have you back safe.”

“Oh,” Gladio said, helpless in his surprise, and then cleared his throat hard. “I’ll do my best, sir.”

“You better,” Cor said with that familiar firmness, and the chance to make Gladio stay was well beyond his reach once more.

A headache pulsed in his temple. His eyes were uncomfortably dry and sore. All sorts of things would have soothed his soul – most of all Gladio’s comforting and continuous warmth, and all was hopeless. Gladio stepped away, facing the pinnacle of his journey.

It was a complicated mess of feelings. Frustration to gnawed at his chest while hurt took his belly, impatience nagging. Ignis tracked Gladio’s path, noisily crunching against loose rocks.

His secondary arm – Ignis had wondered faintly where he had gotten it from - was wrenched out of the ground. Even after the comfort of being able to stash it into the Armiger, Gladio could still haul it around alongside his greatsword as if without effort. It did wonders for Ignis’ faith if only for the moment.

“I’ll be back soon,” Gladio said assuredly, though Ignis knew him all too well. There was a dreadful undercurrent of doubt. “Keep safe. For me.”

Each of them watched helplessly as Gladio trundled toward his fates design. Ignis abruptly felt like he had not said enough. Nor done enough, and he stepped forward sharply. A strangled gasp seized his throat.

Gladio kept walking, proud and poised, and despite all his misgivings, all of his pain and hate, Ignis prayed to any who might be listening.

-X-

It was painfully easy to lose track of time without the shifting sky above.

That intense headache never passed. The still silence was soothing for a while but only to a degree. The whispers had fled like they had never even been, to his great relief, and Ignis used the chance to catch his breath.

It was an uncanny quiet that remained. Ignis’ own heartbeat filled his ears. The gurgle of Prompto’s stomach filled the whole cave occasionally, louder, and louder, evoking nervous and hollow laughter from both Ignis and Prompto. Cor remained quiet and thoughtful, fetching a can from their bag.

“Here,” he said softly, and Prompto’s chewing – a foul sound all in itself – comforting like it had never been before.

With Gladio so close by it was difficult to focus. There was an undercurrent of mystery remaining in the murky confusion of the past few weeks, and Ignis still had a dozen questions regarding the cavern they had found themselves in. To his frustration he wasn’t even sure that Cor would be able to give him any answers. Ignis wouldn’t have been surprised if Cor wanted nothing more to bring rocks down over the entrance way, disguising the mouth of hell, and never speak of it again.

Ignis had learned of many ancient, long lost things in the little research he had managed to do regarding the kings of old. In truth he was eager to delve into their tombs, to scramble for any inkling of magic thank might save them. Aranea had seemed curious enough at the prospect, and willing – but their Marshal had crushed the idea entirely and remained stern in the face of his eldest petitioning him endlessly, all the while vulnerable and angry. Aranea’s agreement had only inspired his wrath even further.

With his mind newly cleared of wrath it was easier to take a step back. The greater image was an ugly one. Had Prompto carried the burden of the ring – eyes scalded with an intensity Ignis would never forget - Ignis would have sent him home. Had it been Gladio, Ignis would have stepped forward to take on the mantle of the Sworn Shield. Anything – anything to protect those he cherished, no matter their rage.

It was a sobering thought. Perhaps he would have been gentler. But that was easy to say in hindsight. Gladio’s rage and insistence were born of pain and doubt – something Ignis had felt in droves, but Ignis carried a calmer side, a tempered passion. It helped that his patience was _superhuman_ , Gladio had always teased with an uproarious laugh and his beautiful, crooked grin. And Ignis bore a horrific weight – the same as Gladio, and the same as Prompto, and made a mistake. Each of them had.

Ignis tilted his head up to the rocks that hung over their heads, teasing an open sky. While they sat the winds still howled, cutting through the stone sharply, and the bridge was dark. One day he would be greeted with the loving warmth of the sun. He was sure of it.

“Dad,” he called out, a little uncertain where Cor had gone but he was by Ignis’ side in an instant.

Ignis had perched himself on what may have been an upturned column closest to the doorway where Gladio had disappeared. It was difficult to tell. Unknown patterns were carved into the chilly stone, traced with his fingertips, and Ignis wondered what stories or secrets they held.

Cor was a man of the present, at least. Cor graced his hands and pulled them away. “What is it,” he asked, attentive as always.

There was a wound across his knuckles. Fresh, but scabbed over. It lay amongst a mass of past scars. Ignis’ fingers traced the length, finding it thankfully short and shallow. “What happened?”

Laughter, small and mild, shook his shoulders. “Just some stones,” he said. “Pyromancer knocked a few of us off our feet.”

It was a thought that made Ignis’ blood run cold. Cor’s warmth was little comfort against the branches of possibilities that life had not taken, the cruel tide of fate. Easily it could have killed him, and Cor would have died thinking that his son hated him.

With a shuddering breath Ignis laced their fingers together. “I’m sorry,” he said.

Perhaps he was surprised. But Cor curled his hands tighter. “It’s okay,” he murmured. “I’m not angry at you. I never have been.”

It was a kindness that Ignis wasn’t yet sure he deserved. He had been so angry but perhaps his family was not the intended target. “I was angry,” he said. “But I want to come home again. And bring Gladio home, too.”

A long sigh of relief left Cor, held up only by the hope he cling to. “That’s good, champ. Real good.”

“I want to apologise to Prompto, too,” he added, letting his voice drop conspiratorially low to avoid his ears. “But I’m not sure how to make it up to him.”

Another hand settled up his shoulder. Cor rocked him good naturedly for a while and even pressed a gentle kiss against his temple. Ignis had forgotten how comforting his whiskers could be. “Just give yourselves some time. He loves you so much – he’s just hurt. But with a little time, you’ll be fast friends again. Even when you were kids and got all upset with each other, you’d be friendly by dinner time, and asking for ice cream.”

When Cor said it Ignis could almost believe it, despite the stark differences in their situation. But it wasn’t a cure all. “Is… is dad angry with me?”

“Of course not,” Cor said, disbelieving and almost with a tsk. “You know your father loves you. Always will. Don’t worry about that.”

It was one more knot untied. It was easy to feel stifled by all their mistakes he had to fix but with Cor by his side the ground felt sure beneath his feet again. But a little spark of worry flared up as Prompto trundled around and towards them. His feet scraped and scuffed – a habit that had been encouraged away as a clumsy child only for it to be brought back for Ignis’ sake – all the way over.

Cor’s hand dropped away and Ignis had only the moment to miss it. A lean and warm body replaced it and Ignis murmured helplessly. “’M cold,” Prompto complained.

There was still a miserable wind. It carried from high above and Ignis wondered vaguely how far the very depths of Taelpar Crag fell. It had felt like miles and even though they were safe from the worst of the wind, the temperature had dropped sharply since the ice had come.

Against his better judgement Ignis reached out, arm resting just behind his brother. Enough to be natural, but open for reconciliation. “It is chilly,” he replied cautiously. It was a severe understatement.

Something in his heart healed as Prompto fell willingly into him without hesitation. His weight was blissfully reassuring. “I’m tired, too.”

A gentle laugh vibrated through Ignis. Sleep would be beyond him, unfortunately, until Gladio returned, no matter how heavy his eyelids. But the thought was alluring indeed. Since he had last slept and drank his terrible coffee, it had felt like days. “We’ll go home soon. Then we’ll rest.”

Prompto tilted his head up, seeking to meet his gaze. “All of us?”

“All of us,” Ignis confirmed and Prompto settled down contentedly, at peace at last.

Against Ignis’ assumption it was remarkably easy to drift between worlds. In the warmth their arms provided and renewed safety Ignis closed his eyes, restlessly dreaming in the darkness. Comfort settled in, fond and warm, like it had never even left him.

They were nestled up and reminiscing better days when the air abruptly turned freezing.

For a moment he assumed it was only the wind, picked up without warning. On instinct Ignis shouldered closer against his father. But the renewed bite of cold air agitated his cheeks, turning his cheeks pink and raw. Even with his eyes closed he sensed the intensity of the air changing, sharpening.

With a gasp Ignis tugged away from Cor’s chest. The tinge in the atmosphere was dismal, miserable, and the hairs on the back of Ignis’ neck stood straight. Everything was wrong and Ignis bore his teeth, set on edge with an anxiety that he could not explain.

“What’s happening,” Ignis asked, and Cor abruptly got up, familiar blade in hand.

“I know you’re there,” he called out, voice thunderous. “I remember you. Show yourself.”

**Out on the bridge Ignis did not relish their vulnerability. They had sought his daggers – one still lost within Enkidu’s throat, Prompto told him with a mixture of pride and disgust – and he had wiped the wetness against his thighs. Standing with patchy with blood daggers and empty eyes did not fill him with any form of confidence, but the feeling that settled within his heart stole the last of his focus.**

**Then there was a figure ahead of him. Ignis could see it.**

**It was caught somewhere between each of his senses. His nostrils filled with the scent of hot metal and dust. Armour slid almost soundlessly, the temperature sharpening, but Ignis could see him plainly. Like a dream, like a world long slipped away and confusing to him, but there was someone there as plain as day, even through the haze.**

**Somewhere, at least. Ignis could not fully put it into words but the world was void around the stranger. A dizziness settled within him and Ignis focused breathlessly upon the impossible purple fire that burned in lieu of his eyes. The man was forged of gold and black, formed of a thousand shadows and the fire of an undying spirit.**

**_I’ll not entertain the Immortal or his cubs again,_ a voice Ignis knew to be Gilgamesh said, with the slightest touch of humour. _Take your victor, and begone from this place._**

As if he were nothing more than a dream, Gilgamesh was gone as quickly as he had appeared, and the weight of a man hit the floor.

“Gladiolus,” Cor spoke desperately and lurched forward, at the same time Prompto yelled, and the world was hoisted away from each other.

For a moment, there was nothing.

Ignis came back to himself with a sudden start, skin prickling ** _._**

There was something very different. For a moment he could not place what had changed, disorientated from his place in time, but everything had changed. Cool air prickled his skin. The ground beneath his boots was lumpy, uneven, and clumps of grass and dirt moved as he shuffled from foot to foot. Dust and age no longer filled his nose.

Confusion broke out around him. Voices, curses, and Prompto calling his name. “Iggy? Iggy?”

Reaching out, Ignis found nothing. The air was empty and sharp. “I’m here – Prompto, where are you?”

“Shit,” Prompto swore, and didn’t take his arm. “Oh, shit, Gladio-”

Fear prickled all across his skin. Someone barged without apology past his shoulder. “Where are we? What’s going on?”

“Gladio,” Prompto brayed, terrified, and Ignis stumbled forward to seek awnsers. The path was filled with muck and dirt and eventually Ignis’ searching hands met Cor’s back. He had sunk to his knees, hunched. Ignis’ hand curled around his shoulder, metal and plastic beneath.

“What’s happening,” he asked, again and again, loathing being ignored, and then froze as the scent of soil and blood filled his nose.

Ignis’ mind went hazy. Cold flooded his veins, heart like a rock. The blood was intense and sweat spiked it. The absence of Gladio’s voice was aching. “Is it…”

Cor stripped his belt from his jeans. His elbow caught Ignis’ knee. “I need some space,” he said, but Ignis scarcely heard him. Instead, he dropped to his own knees, blindly reaching, feeling all the more the fool.

In the cold air his bare hands still carried the remnants of numbness. They met something warm and wet and Ignis gasped shakily. The scent of blood deepened.

Roughly Cor shouldered him out of the way. “I need space,” he said again and pulled the leather belt taut. “Gladio needs help.”

Like a ghost Prompto was at his side. His own hands were slippery and Ignis dreaded the truth. “Come on,” he said. “Maybe – maybe we should get the van running – make some space, and get him out of here.”

It made sense as much as it couldn’t. How the van was by their side and the moon above was beyond Ignis’ reasoning. Bewilderment and terror made his mind spin out of control. “Tell me he’s not dying. Tell me he’s okay.”

Prompto hesitated a moment too long. Ignis lost control of himself. “Gladio-”

There was no shallow breathing. There were no grunts of pain and Ignis forced his way back to Gladio’s side, hands fumbling over his jacket. The shirt was remarkably in one piece but drenched with blood. Cor worked hard, applying his belt somewhere around Gladio’s shoulder.

Gladio’s chin was slick with blood. Even all along his cheeks, his nose. The bones were set safely, his throat and eyes unmarred – but a gash stretched from his brow to his opposite temple. It was shallow but gushing blood, his eyebrows matted. Like a sword had cleaved across his noble temple.

Ignis’ brows sunk. There was nothing of true concern. Perhaps a concussion, or internal bleeding. With a quick check Gladio’s pulse was present, though thready. “What-”

“His arm is in a bad way,” Cor explained, voice terse. “If you’re going to take up space, I need you to heal him, if you can. I don’t know if he’ll make the journey to Lestallum.”

Ignis took hold of Gladio’s shoulders. Immediately he noted the shredded leather of his jacket, torn and soaked. Beneath the warm flesh was torn beyond easy repair. Revulsion filled his belly. “Gods,” he said, fumbling and mind buzzing.

It was ruin all the way down. There was more blood than Ignis could stand. “He needs a proper doctor,” Ignis mumbled. “Prompto – the van-”

“On it,” Prompto blurted, and Ignis brushed the world away. There were a thousand different questions rattling around in his brain. None of them mattered now.

After all of this, he wouldn’t lose Gladio here.

 _This can be easy,_ he told himself _. You’re done this a thousand times before._ Gladio was all too often on the receiving end of Ignis’ healing magic, and Ignis’ scolding. All manner of silly wounds had been brought to him throughout their little adventures and he had always soothed them with a kiss. Tiny burns from the gas camper, scrapes from slipping up the Haven in his haste.

Nothing so serious, and Ignis quaked in the face of _what if?_

“I’ve got it,” he spoke to no one at all, hoping to convince himself. “I’m okay.”

Cor understood. One hand settled assuredly on Ignis’ shoulder, squeezing hard. “Do your best,” he said, and could not disguise the lump in his throat.

-X-

It was barely enough to be able to get Gladio home, and Ignis knew that they had finally been gifted a miracle. _Wait for one, and three come at once,_ he thought mirthlessly, and cursed the bumpy road that led them to the bright beauty of Lestallum.

They were waved through urgently once the guards had seen Cor’s grim expression out of the window. According to the rules they could only drift through the tunnel, cautious of the stock that was kept piled upon more stock and the people who bustled endlessly across the single road, trying their best to stay on top of the tides of people and all of their needs, but Prompto seemed to not care.

“Careful,” Cor murmured in the awful quiet, but the velocity never so much as budged and Cor never protested.

It had been a panicked task to take down the back seats to have enough space for Gladio. They were awkwardly flattened and Ignis had thrown his jacket across, desperate to make something comfortable and steady. When Ignis tugged endlessly at Cor’s elbow he had gotten the clue, tucking his own jacket over Gladio’s pallid and still form, eager to protect him from the harshness of the night. Ignis lay silent by his side, magic cracking upon his tongue.

There was no room for dread. A dozen expectant faces roamed this city, all seeking him. Ignis barely spared a thought for them but, as always, his body worked overtime on suffering guilt. Horror and anxiety pulled insistently at his guts and there was no comfort of home waiting him yet.

“Almost there,” Prompto promised with a distracted air, focused entirely on the road, and Ignis leaned in to rest his chin on Gladio’s shoulder.

It wasn’t like any of his fantasies. In every dream where they were hand in hand in Lestallum Gladio was neater shaved, casually dressed, and had eyes only for him. He smelt like lilac and rose. Now he was deathly still and reeked of blood and sweat. Ignis shuddered, too afraid to shatter their tentative peace by tracing comforts into Gladio’s no doubt bruised skin, but he longed for it. It would be a far greater comfort to him than Gladio, out cold and completely unresponsive.

Fear had been his bedfellow for too long. Life this way was unbearable, and he couldn’t stand the idea that he had walked away rather than endured and fixed what had fractured into so many splintered pieces. Ignis cursed himself again and again. Cowardice was not fitting. Ignis did not admit defeat, and Ignis would not let Gladio slip away from him now.

They rumbled through the main street. It rattled Ignis’ teeth. He could taste blood. A sole, tentative comfort came in Gladio’s deep sleep, protected from the pain.

Voices were vacant and vague beyond the window. Women from the plant had been stretched all across the city for a thousand different tasks, pulling double duty wherever necessary. They worked side by side with those desperate to earn their family’s keep. Ignis had been one of them for a brief while, taking on whatever work Holly would give to him. Such tasks were very rare. Holly quivered under the careful eye of his father. Busy days, fraught days, and Ignis had been left waiting for work for hours.

Ignis recognised very few of them. His heart lurched on the occasion when he could put a name to a voice and prayed that they would not recognise them. Prompto carried no such fear and drove without a word, pulling to a hard right, and blared his horn.

Before they even stopped Cor was bursting out of the back. When he slammed his hand against the side of the car Ignis flinched. “Medic,” Cor barked. “Anyone around?”

Blustering voices met him. In all the confusion no one was sure what to do. Cor’s patience was limited, and he hit the side again. “I need aide. Where’s Johanna?”

“Ah,” a stranger said, startled. “They got called up into the third district – Arai’s wife went into labour, and-”

An ear-splitting curse came from Cor. “Where’s Nazim?”

“Main office, I think,” they said, timidly, and Cor sprung into action.

Circling around, he spoke directly to Ignis. “Help me get him out,” he asked and Ignis supported Gladio’s heavy shoulders as Cor worked his feet, sliding him free and back into fresh air.

Once Ignis emerged into the streetlight a minor murmur moved through the small crowd. His was a name well known, a face instantly recognisable with his mass of scars, and he couldn’t help but wince. Looking to avoid any untoward attention he kept his head bowed and wished he had fetched his visor in the confusion.

Prompto rapped his knuckles against the other side. _Like father, like son._ “Go tell him we’re coming,” he said aside to a stranger, and lightly patted the small of Ignis’ back. “Dad’ll carry Gladio. We won’t be able to. Can you help me carry our stuff?”

It wasn’t the work of heroes. But it was a start. Ignis nodded urgently. “Give me anything,” he said, and sooner than Ignis could have dreamed they were hurrying along the back streets, weaving through the masses of people who still cluttered them.

Prompto lead the way, surefooted. They wound their hands together, Ignis desperate to not lose his way. The city was still nothing more than hazy memories. It felt like a life long lost to him.

Lestallum, he thought, had scarcely changed. Masses of people and homes remained piled on top of each other, always overlapping and teeming with people. The noise was unlike any other, and the scent of the city had shifted – spices and cooking meat were no longer displayed as a source of city pride. There was only sweat and cheap detergent, steel and skin. Perfunctory cooking filled the air – sizzling meat from cramped homes and rarely the spike of alcohol. It was a change for the worse, and only spiralled these past few years.

All the friendliness of the city had settled into something darker. People still smiled, and even laughed. But there were no packs of women enjoying their night off. There was no thumping music from restaurants across the courtyard. People bustled to and fro, arms full of necessities and muttering about the constant movements of the hunters with little time to say hello.

Now Ignis was sure they stared. Most darted out of the way, recognising their dark clothes and grim looks. Others Prompto barked at to _move, get out of the way **,**_ and the strangers whispered. Each of their faces were well known, part of the leadership of the last bastion of light, and no one dared stop them.

Since they had settled their weary heads in Lestallum permanently, the family had picked out a tight cluster of apartments to make their own. Ignis considered it just his luck that Nazim worked here, right on the doorstep of the family he had fled.

Set in the direct centre of the city, lying at the very feet of the power plant, there was a wide courtyard surrounded by homes. It was run down mostly, with old fashioned buildings that had been there for decades, each once individual homes split lazily into apartments, and Lestallum had sprung up around it. Each apartment had a modest balcony overlooking the courtyard and the stone was a warm brown, brick covered with a clay like texture. They were shabby old things, nothing like Insomnia’s luxurious high-rise apartments. But they were warm, and Ignis enjoyed nothing more than having his family close at hand.

Each of them had claimed a room for themselves. Ignis and Gladio shared a room opposite Cor and Amais, while Iris and Talcott enjoyed their own space squeezed between Monica and Dustin’s rooms. Prompto lived above but spent most of his free time in the apartments of others, suffering from more loneliness than most with the absence of his friend. Remnants of the Kingsglaive filled the gaps, each one the leader of specific groups of hunters. Within the courtyard they often took turns running small classes for Lestallum’s almost forgotten children, playing games and reading stories, creating art, and Ignis had taken some small pleasure in the frequent laughter and squealing of children just outside his window.

They had been happy for a while. Ignis would lie back in bed with his tea as Gladio stood out on their balcony, not having to say anything at all. His low rumbling voice would be a wonderful comfort as he described the pale blue flowers one of the sons and daughters would scribble in chalk along Dustin’s walls. But the happiness had not remained.

The building set out front had once been for the sales department, Ignis suspected, and abandoned rather than demolished. In the pressing need for practicality Nazim had laid claim to it, savouring the open spaces for piles of his things, desk set amongst it all and groaning under the weight of his papers and tools. _Better to be close by these unruly lot,_ he always said with a wry eye cast to the ‘glaives _. Lest you get into the kind of trouble you need a man like me for._

Across the years they had. Nazim had set bones, amputated limbs, cleaned Talcott’s scraped knees and cured all manner of ills. Tonight, Ignis thought he might have him work cut out for him.

Together they all hurried towards his office. Cor never slowed even under Gladio’s considerable weight. “Is the light on?”

“Yeah,” Prompto called back and Ignis heard the door squeal open before he heard Nazim’s voice.

“The prodigal son returns, then,” he said with a wonky smile, but the coy twist didn’t last long. “Oh, Astrals. What on Eos has he done now?”

“Arm’s fucked,” Cor grunted, and Ignis had to hesitate over the small steps up to the apartment block. Memory told him the office was mere feet away, the entrance way to home off to the right, and he wondered faintly if his family was watching from the tall windows. He shrank into the safety of the wall, waiting for Cor to amble in front. “Gave him a tourniquet and helped it along with some magic. Don’t know how much good it’s done, but the bleeding is a lot better.”

Nazim made a twisted noise in the back of his throat. “Get him in the theatre. Nico is there – she’ll get him ready.”

Cor strode past without another word. The doctor was close behind, and barked parting words over his shoulder. “Dump all that stuff by the door, if you must.”

The door swung shut behind them. Then there wasn’t a sound, the quick footsteps swallowed up, and Ignis abruptly felt breathless and vulnerable.

With a heavy sigh, Prompto dropped all his things. It was almost a relief. “Astrals,” he moaned. “I need to sit down. Shit…”

Ignis had been in Nazim’s office a dozen times. Often, he would plague him at all hours of the night, full of inspiration and desperation. Once he had truly come to terms with the permanent loss of his vision, he hadn’t been in since. The mental map was marred, and he hoped faintly that there hadn’t been a furniture switch around in his absence.

When he placed the rest of his things beside Prompto’s his feet kept meeting cardboard boxes. He stubbed his toes countless times and swore. “Shit,” he said, frustration a tight knot in his chest.

“Seat’s over here,” Prompto told him and Ignis followed his voice slowly. The carpet was dry and old. Gratefully the seats were soft, if fraying in parts. “Astrals. I’m just… glad that’s all over.”

Thoughtlessly Ignis nodded. Only for the first time did he realise just how exhausted he was. Every muscle was sore. “Did Gladio truly look that terrible?”

“Yeah,” he sighed. He ran his hand through his wild hair. “Really pale. His arm was a mess. I think he’ll be alright, but… I don’t know.”

With a thud Ignis leaned his head back on the wall. He let his eyes drift closed and he struggled to shrug the feeling of being watched. “Gods.”

Prompto hummed. They spent a minute further in silence, sighing now and again, expelling their weariness. Ignis waited with pricked up ears, eager to hear Cor’s return. The office smelt clean as always, anti-bacterial wipes making his nose sting. He felt disgusting just sitting in it, almost subhuman.

It was a strange thing to be here again. It seemed the journey had flown by, time thick and miserable within Gilgamesh’s domain, and bounding free once the moon graced their skin. It had stolen Ignis’ breath and he sat a long while, mind teeming, filled with a worry that would not budge even knowing Gladio was in good hands.

A long while passed before the side door was shouldered open. Cor thumped his way through and his sons looked up eagerly. “They’ll handle it,” he promised, but sounded distracted. “I, uh. I think we should clean up. Get out of his hair, too.”

“I want to stay here,” Ignis said without skipping a beat, and Prompto eagerly nodded along.

With a thoughtful, displeased sound Cor watched them a moment. “There’s no polite way of saying this. You two stink. You need a shower.”

“I want to stay,” Ignis said again, sternly.

Cor’s tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth. “Dad’ll know you’re in Lestallum,” he said slowly. “Word goes fast. You don’t have to see him if you really don’t want to. You can shower somewhere else.”

A shower sounded like a dream. There were too many layers of grime and muck upon his skin, each of them days old. Ignis could feel the filth beneath his nails and grease limpening his hair. “I’ll take one later,” he insisted, and stared down at his clasped hands to dissuade argument.

Grunting, Cor rolled his shoulders. “Suit yourself. I’m going, and I’m going to enjoy it. Prom, you coming?”

His reluctance was clear. Boots shuffled against the ground. Ignis was sure they had tracked in enough muck to ruin the carpets for good. “Maybe I should. It’s pretty messy.”

It was wise. Ignis couldn’t remember the last time he washed his hair. It was oily to the touch, hanging loose and heavy. But he couldn’t bear to leave Gladio behind, and his limbs did not want to obey any command. His heart wouldn’t be able to take the absence.

Thankfully Cor was merciful. “Alright,” he murmured, clearly unhappy but not willing to push his luck. One out of two sons would have to be good enough. “We’ll be back soon. We won’t tell anyone you’re here, but… Iris will probably want to come down when we tell her.”

One at a time seemed easy enough. The guilt upon seeing Iris would be a taster for who came next. “Alright.”

“Get something to eat from the bags,” Cor told him as a parting command, and they trundled out of the front door together. A terrible stench followed and Ignis almost laughed. Instead, he waited until their footsteps were long gone and took the chance to rest his hands over his face and groan.

Weeks of searching endlessly and here he was. Home again, and cowering. There was remarkably little to show for all his efforts. Just a ruined arm and shattered bodies, and a family that Ignis didn’t know how to begin to put back together again. At any rate Ignis could only hope all the drama of the Trial had been worth it in the end. Whatever strange lessons had been imparted onto Gladio meant nothing to Ignis.

A mess of emotions that Ignis couldn’t stomach sat rotting in his belly. The faintest of anxiety clawed at him from within, marring his ribs. It was difficult to shake the feeling that Ignis was in enemy territory though nothing could be further from the truth. Lestallum may have been a prison at times, but it was far greater than the busy hunter hubs or the silence of Caem.

It was difficult to believe that Ignis had ever felt comfort listening to the waves. There was nothing else so isolating – nothing past the creeping silence of Taelpar Crag. He and Gladio had condemned themselves there, in the crushing dark.

In retrospect there had been no reason at all, beside pride and stupidity, and Ignis swallowed down the sour taste of his shame ** _._** Mussing his hair thoughtlessly Ignis grunted, deeply unhappy. Like moody teenagers unable to communicate they had shunned those who wanted the best for them. It was shameful.

Apologies were hard, and complicated moments. Ignis could only hope that his family would not shun him in turn.

Ignis sat there alone for a very long time. The shadows within his sight barely budged. It was quiet within the office, with no souls close at hand – this part of the city was quitter than most. Ignis had enjoyed living in the very centre of the city and considered himself fortunate that he had a roof over his head, reliable sources of food. Many had not been so lucky. It had been a foolish mistake to cast it all aside.

He couldn’t say how long he sat for. After the dredge of time grew more and more unbearable, Ignis’ ears picked up at the smallest, slightest sound. Angling his head up, expression tensing, he listened as it grew closer and closer.

Boots thumped quickly against the stone, sprinting and covering impressive ground, and a gasping woman thundered into the office.

She was terribly out of breath. Running for quite some time, Ignis had guessed, since she had heard the news, and he braced himself against a terrible smell that never came. There were lilacs on the air, lavender, and Ignis knew this scent well.

Too abruptly he stood up. “Iris,” he breathed, and she stared silently for a long moment.

It was magnificent and horrifying. Ignis kept his head demurely low, unwilling to risk any more. An apology tripped on his tongue, trapped behind his teeth. All words were far beyond his grasp.

Within precious moments of quiet and stillness Ignis sank even further into despair _. Sorry,_ he tried to say, umming and ahhing, and without another word she leapt boldly into his arms.

Strong arms wrapped tightly around him. A small body heaved itself up to rest against him and Ignis, startled, caught her around her waist and hoisted her up. They locked together and she breathed him in deeply. Not a single word of complaint was said about the state of him. “Iggy,” she said, strangled.

Ignis gazed endlessly towards the ceiling. Iris was lighter than he remembered. “Iris,” he said again. “It’s… good to be with you again.”

A sniffle was tucked against his throat. Her hands bunched up in his jacket. They said nothing for a while longer and Ignis’ dread finally began to falter within her arms. They were forgiving, he knew without words, clutching him tight so to never let him go again.

Difficulty bloomed in his lower back and shoulders. He had pushed his body too long and too far for such games but still felt a pang of regret when Iris squirmed, signalling to be let down. With a thump her boots hit the floor and she sighed, sounding tired beyond her years.

“Where’s Gladdy,” she asked and sounded as if she was recovering from a nasty cold.

“He’s been taken through to the surgery rooms,” he said and began to fumble his hands once again. “I couldn’t testify to it myself, of course, but… Cor said his arm was in a bad way. I believe there was also a cut across his forehead.”

She let out a long, uneven breath. “More scars,” she weakly joked and Ignis smiled to be polite. “Has he been in there long?”

Once Nazim had owned a ticking clock high against the wall. It had driven all of them insane with the reminder of sand in the hourglass. He had swapped it for a watch pinned to his lapel after complaints. Ignis had never thought he might miss that clock. “I’m not sure. They rushed him in as soon as we arrived, and Cor and Prompto left not long after for their showers.”

Iris hummed. “You need one too,” she said distantly.

A burn overtook Ignis’ cheeks. “Sorry,” he said genuinely. “I just didn’t want to leave Gladio.”

She nodded eagerly, intensely. There was a chain that animatedly jangled around her throat. Her choker had been torn and lost long ago. “I get it.”

It was unspeakably awkward. Ignis wished desperately for an interruption. A disaster would be acceptable. But the world was unkind and so Ignis gestured toward the seat beside his. “Perhaps…”

“Sure,” Iris murmured and took to his side. Then she took one of his hands, clasping them tonight. “It’s nice to see you. It’s been a while.”

“It has,” Ignis said delicately.

“It was really nice to hear your voice all those times, even if…” She trailed off and cleared her throat. “Sorry about then. I wanted to keep it together, but…”

Her sobs still haunted him. There were a thousand different sounds of pain that had made their home beneath his skin. “I understand completely.” Turning his hands upside down, he relished in the warmth her skin. Compared against Gladio’s her hands were petal soft, but Clarus had given her extensive self-defence lessons and Monica had taken over once they asserted themselves in Lestallum. Despite that, she had seen limited action. “I…”

 _Astrals damn these fickle words,_ he thought, and smoothed a thumb over her knuckles. “I’m sorry, Iris. I never intended to make such a fuss, and then for Gladio to depart shortly after… I have made a great many mistakes, and I will make them up to you if I can. Make them up to you all.”

A little laugh escaped her. It was as warming a sound as Gladio’s boisterous delight. “You have a lot of words to say to a lot of different people,” she said, barely wry. It was an understatement beyond belief. “But I understand. I know I wasn’t really involved with everything, and people think I don’t understand most of it, but I do. Talcott and I see and hear more than you know.”

It was a frustrating thing to be a dependant within the midst of a storm. Ignis knew it all too well. Their families had hidden much from them as children, so many cruelties and ugly truths. Ignis had thought he never would have hidden the world from those who followed in his footsteps, but he fought hard to keep Iris and Talcott innocent even a small while longer. They were just children. Even now with Iris approaching her eighteenth in what seemed little more than a blink of an eye. Ignis would thrust his hands into fire to keep their skin unblemished. Talcott was even sweeter a child, still free with his affections and more interested in tinkering than seeing the world beyond.

“I can only apologise for making the atmosphere so… untenable,” Ignis said carefully. “I imagine the stress has been too much to bear.”

“Amais has been out of his mind,” Iris told him. Such brutal honestly had Ignis wincing. “But Monica’s pulled the show together pretty well. We’re all alive, at least.”

Monica deserved something wonderful. A good dinner and some night blooming flowers. Ignis put a mental note aside. There were other pressing matters at hand. “I’ll speak to him soon,” Ignis promised. “I just… don’t think I’m ready.”

“Yeah,” Iris nodded again. “I get that.”

It was good to have company again. Her hands were restless but kind, featherlight across his scars. Iris had known too many scars upon the skin of those she loved. She would know even more by the time their battles were laid to rest.

“Thank you,” Ignis murmured, vulnerable in the silence, and Iris didn’t need to say a thing.

-X-

Ignis was half asleep against Iris’ shoulder when bright light flooded into the room.

With a start he jerked awake. Ignis blinked hard and shook his head, forcing himself back to life before he was ready. Iris’ hand had never left his and she squeezed it reassuringly, sitting up with him. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s Doc.”

It took a miserably long moment to realise where he was. “Oh,” he said distractedly, chasing away the dreams that almost sunk their claws into him. “Yes – yes. Is Gladio alright?”

The door slammed shut. Nazim shuffled inside and heaved a great sigh. “Yes,” he said and sounded tired to his bones. Ignis wondered just how long he had been awake for. “Well, he’ll live for certain. Barring disaster.”

Hope had barely the chance to settle into his heart. It disappeared as soon as it had alight. “But?”

“I’m not sold on his arm,” Nazim said, and he spared a moment of kindness for their newcomer. “Don’t be afraid – either of you. But his arm was in a real state. I think it’s saved, with a timely tourniquet and magic, but it’ll be a long process in rehabilitating it. Especially to the level that the boy was using it before. Not sure what the damage will do to his mental health either, but knowing him, it’ll not be an easy thing to deal with.”

Ignis blew out a long, thoughtful breath. It was good news, but not fantastic. Ignis knew that Gladio was a quick study and had long trained himself to be ambidextrous but the damage to his psyche may be untenable. Cor had spoken of limited if non-existent rewards for the trouble of venturing to the Blademaster, and Ignis wondered if they had only lost something precious in the murky depths.

It appeared Iris had the same thoughts. “Shit,” she said with a long sigh. “Still asleep?”

Nazim nodded. “He will be, for quite some time. He may require a blood transfusion, but I worry about limited stock.”

“My blood is O-,” Ignis announced. “Take it from me.”

Something clattered by Nazim’s desk. He shuffled through papers, humming curiously. “That was quick,” he said wryly. “If you’re that eager, I can take it now. If appropriate, of course.”

Already Ignis was shrugging out of his jacket. Dumping it on the floor, he rolled up the sleeve of his right arm. “I’ll need water.”

Nazim laughed, delighted. “Yes, I’m aware. And I’ll hardly do it here. Appreciate your enthusiasm, though.”

It was agonising to wait. The doctor took his time at his desk, tapping away at a computer that Ignis faintly remembered being ancient. It was damn near yellowed with age, Prompto had said, awed. “Gimme a sec,” he said whenever Ignis wriggled, impatient. He tapped away for a long while and Ignis wanted to pace until there were groves in the miserable carpet.

Finally, he stood. Ignis jumped up too and he could imagine his companions rolling their eyes. “Come on then,” he said airily, and Ignis hurried after him as they ventured through the hallway.

Iris followed quietly and without complaint. Ignis wished he could peek through the odd doorways they passed. Everything was quiet and still, insufferably so. A nurse that Ignis didn’t know pressed against the wall to give them space to face, murmuring a friendly hello.

The fresh and sharp smell of disinfectant was even worse here. It stung Ignis’ nostrils and soured his tongue. The harsh overhead light were an uncomfortable strain against even his eyes, and it was too warm even for Ignis’ turtleneck. For the sake of those he loved he desperately needed to peel himself out of his thermals. A fond reunion could not be ruined by the stench of his sweat.

Nazim lead them to the furthest room in the back. Holding it open for them both, he made sure to shut it firmly and draw the curtain over the window for the pretence of privacy. “Are you squeamish? Afraid of needles at all?”

“No,” Iris said, at the same time Ignis said, “A little of both.”

“One out of two isn’t bad,” he said, and got to work.

Once it was all said and done, Ignis clutched the mostly empty cup of water. Nazim cluttered around him with precious resource but Ignis could scarcely hear it. Without his conscious wit he swayed and sank, stomach roiling and his body newly weak. Iris held onto his shoulder, peering close.

“Not good, huh?”

Words were beyond him. Sinking down he put his head almost between his legs, breathing steadily. “Mmph,” he said instead, lest he vomit. There was nothing to bring up but Ignis swore it was coming.

With her hand rubbing along his spine, she took the glass from his hand. Deftly she downed the rest. “You need something to eat. Can you walk out to the office?”

“Mm,” he said again, meaning no, but somehow they made it together. Now his legs threatened to buckle beneath his weight. Iris supported him as best she could, guiding him forward.

There were biscuits pressed into his hand. Ginger snaps, he guessed from the texture and scent – his least favourite. But best for nausea, as Ignis had often told Noctis during his anxious spirals, and as his father had often told Ignis himself. He ate them without argument and barely had the energy to scrunch his nose at their staleness.

“Good,” Iris said, with the patience of a legend. It was the only thing that had gotten her through an Amicitia childhood. Ignis had barely made it and he had been nothing more than a voyeur. “So – what now?”

Somewhere beyond the haze Nazim spoke. “Well. You’re welcome to visit Gladiolus for a short while, if you want. But Ignis needs to rest somewhere else. I can’t have someone as unhygienic as him in my office. Especially not if he throws up.”

Air whistled through Iris’ nostrils. Somewhere deep beneath the roiling nausea Ignis understood – love and concern called her into Gladio’s room, but she was torn. “I should get him up to his room first.”

Barely conscious, Ignis grabbed for her hand. Worry broke through the haze. “Not my room-”

“My room, then,” Iris said and sighed. “Talcott is sleeping, so we have to be quiet.”

“I don’t want to disturb him…”

“You can’t sleep here, Ignis,” she pressed. Her voice was as firm as her father’s. “Do you want me to call Prompto? Stay with him?”

Ignis shook his head. It made his powerful nausea all the worse. “No,” he barely managed to say through the need to gag. He felt like a child again. It was remarkable how the wooziness could overtake him in so short a time.

“Let me,” Nazim interrupted, tone a little tired of this mess. “You can see your brother – Nico will let you in, tell her I said it’s alright – and I’ll run Ignis up. I was the one who stole his blood, after all. Gladio can wait for his blood a little longer. He’ll live.”

Her hands hesitated. They had felt so nice running along Ignis’ back, her nails left to grow long again, that he almost complained. “If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure,” Nazim said again, with a softer edge that had earned him a place by the Crownsguard. “Go see him. I’m sure he won’t be awake until sometime tomorrow, but it’ll be good for you to see him until then.”

With one last slow stroke along Ignis’ back and a peek at his pallid face, Iris nodded determinedly. “Thank you. Take him out to my room – it’s the first floor, apartment number two. It’s not locked.”

Ignis scarcely remembered the journey up. The cold was a shock that made his sickness worse, swaying a little and hating the dizziness, but Nazim was faithful though his bedside manner could have used some improvement. Laughing a little at Ignis’ pallid face he supported him with an arm around his back and friendly words, surely walking him across and through the courtyard.

Somehow, they managed to reach Iris’ apartment without interruption. They were too noisy, clambering around in the living room and fumbling for lights, and by some miracle Talcott did not wake. The first thing Ignis could remember with any certainty was the softness of Iris’ bed beneath him and Nazim murmuring to himself as he gently took Iris’ doll from the pillow and thoughtfully placed it upon her bedside cabinet.

A bottle of water was set beside it. But when Nazim switched off the lights, murmuring a gentle goodnight, Ignis seized his hand suddenly.

“My father,” he said hesitantly when Nazim stopped. “My father…”

Laughing a little, Nazim straightened the duvet over his shoulder. Perhaps his bedside manner was good enough after all. “Which one?”

“My father,” he said again urgently, even as his mind slipped away, eyes heavy, and Ignis’ memory was truly lost to him.

**-X-**

Some hours later the sun spilled into Iris’ bedroom and a slow steady hand stroked again and again through Ignis’ filthy hair.

A cotton pillow was mussed against his cheek. It stuck when he attempted to turn his head away from the streetlight streaming through the window. Moaning softly, he could not yet open his eyes. The hand against his scalp was soothing, relaxing enough to be lulled right back to sleep. Ignis wished he had the wherewithal to lean into it. “Mm,” he said again, the groan barely escaping his throat.

For a moment, the hand stilled. But it quickly recovered and resumed its path, tucking a strand of hair just behind his ears. The fingers were long and the skin smooth. They didn’t mind the grease and the sweat, and Ignis faintly thought he would have to apologise profusely to Iris for ruining her bed.

“Thank you for bringing him home,” Amais said, just within Ignis’ comprehension, sweeter and softer than Ignis had ever heard, and Cor gave the same old embarrassed grunt that he always made, no matter how long they had been married.

While Ignis knew the voice well, it sparked nothing. Ignis was too deeply lost within comfort to question it. All he wanted was to sleep. A deep ache had set into his whole body now he had been given a chance to rest. It was the only reminder of all that had come before.

Someone shuffled in the seat by the window. “I think he’s just about awake,” Cor said, fondly amused.

“He’s been through so much.” Amais shifted to pet across his temple. It was the best thing Ignis was sure he had ever felt. “We should let him sleep a little longer.”

It took far too much effort to turn his head towards his voice. His eyelids were painfully heavy. “Dad,” he said blurrily, mouth dry like it was filled with cotton.

The bed dipped beneath them. Amais rest his hand against Ignis’ shoulder. “Hello, love.”

His voice wavered dangerously. To Ignis’ shame, he knew he was holding back tears. Ignis moved until he lay on his side, eyes seeking still. “Are you…?”

“I’m here,” he assured him. “You don’t have to wake. Keep sleeping, if you need to.”

Sleep sounded wonderful. Ignis wasn’t sure if he needed it but his eyelids sank closed again. Everything was blissfully warm and the sheets smelt so clean. It had been too long since he slept easily. Naps in the car leant him minimal strength. And his father’s hands were so soothing.

“’m sorry,” Ignis sighed through the fuzz of his mouth, and his father gave a long, tragic sigh.

Shifting forward Amais pressed a kiss against his temple. He lingered for a moment and Ignis missed him sorely when he pulled away. “Sleep a little longer, love. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Try as he might to speak again, eager for forgiveness and approval, Ignis slipped back into the depths - and when morning came, he was alone.

A few hours extra was a blessing. Ignis felt far stronger and managed to push himself up on his forearms without much protest. Light from the streetlamp fell across his face and he rubbed the sleep away. Listening intently, he sought signs of life, waiting for the clatter of dishes in the next room or the vague hum of the radio. But there was nothing at all and Ignis wasn’t sure if he was relieved.

Sliding across until his feet found the floor, he was surprised to find a blanket falling off his shoulders and his feet bare. Amais, he knew, and tried not to feel too guilty.

It wasn’t long until his thoughts drifted back to Gladio. Drawing the blanket closer he waited a little longer for a call, some sign of life. Perhaps he had slept only a few hours, but a full day slipping away didn’t seem so unlikely. Ignis stretched languidly, feeling something pop in the small of his back, and slunk off to the shower down the hall. He crept, listening for even the slightest disturbance, and found nothing.

It wasn’t long until his thoughts returned to Gladio.

There was still hot water. It must have been morning – by the evening time their reserves rank low, spluttering, and cold, and the rest was saved for emergencies or water for dinner. Ignis gave himself a deep clean for practicality but also to bask in the wonderous heat, something so rarely afforded. Iris’ soap was almost whittled away to nothing and he cleaned himself carefully, noting to buy her another. Lavender soothed his fragile nerves and once he stepped out, he felt like a better human being.

Her towels were ragged little things. Ignis dried himself in a perfunctory fashion and tousled his hair. It was a poor show to put his dirty clothes back on again. But Ignis wandered over to his apartment with great care, feeling like he was to be assailed by his family at any given moment, but the entire block was suspiciously quiet. Not even Talcott wandered the halls.

The door to the apartment he had long shared with Gladio gave him pause. There would be no silent lover beyond, either loving and kind, nor tortured and angry. Even now Ignis was reluctant to walk inside and face the emptiness. Emptiness was just another assault on his senses.

With the gate to the apartments often closed and well-trained soldiers behind every door the rarely felt the need to lock their doors. Ignis tested the handle and it swung open wide. Immediately he smelt stale air and dust, and he winced into the darkness.

Once he crossed the threshold into their bedroom, a dour atmosphere his only companion, he shucked his clothes and left them in a gormless pile. With his thermals gone the air was painfully cold. It seemed the heating had not been touched in weeks. Ignis pulled on the warmest clothes he could find, complete with the first hoodie he could find, cast over the bedsheets and thankfully clean.

Only when he clutched it did he realise the sheer size. Stretching it and holding it out he realised it must have been Gladio’s.

He hesitated but only for an instant. He tugged it loosely over his head and tousled his wet hair, already warm and basking in Gladio’s familiar scent. Amber and rose, his signature scent since he was a young man, and Ignis missed his comfort sorely.

If they were lucky Gladio had already woken. Amais had promised to see him in the morning, and he was a man to linger close to those he loved, and perhaps he had heard the news and sat by Gladio’s side, waiting for Ignis to come. Facing them both at once was not a thought he savoured, but Ignis moved forward always. Leaving his apartment, he wandered out into the middle of the courtyard.

If anyone could see him from the window, they left him undisturbed. Ignis followed the familiar tile path out towards the doctor’s office, rubbing his arms against the sharp cold.

As he came closer there were voices nearby. Those of strangers, workers striding across the city, and that of his brother, laughing faintly. Ignis slowed, curious, and rapped at the door.

Prompto fell silent. There was a few beats of nothingness and then a murmur, and the rustle of fabric. The door creaked open and it earned him a noise of relief. “It’s Iggy,” he announced, and Prompto fisted his hoodie to pull him inside.

“Morning,” Nazim called over to him. He sounded infinitely happier. Ignis caught the scent of strong instant coffee and understood completely. “You were asleep for quite some time.”

“How long?”

“Twelve hours,” he said. “If I’ve kept time correctly – and who knows if I have but the Astrals - it’s almost nine am. Your body clock is good and in rhythm.

“Good,” Ignis said distractedly. In all honesty there was nothing he cared less about. “Is Dad here?”

“I’m here, son,” Cor said from his place on the chairs. “If I’m the right dad, that is.”

Ignis laughed weakly. “Good enough,” he joked. “Is he…?”

“Out for breakfast with Iris and Talcott.” Cor spoke through a smile. Ignis wondered if it was the first true smile in days. “Been through a lot. Think they’ve earned it.”

“Good, good,” Ignis said again, and toyed endlessly with the edge of his sleeves. There was a loose thread he agitated. “Is… Gladio awake?”

“Not right now.” Prompto said with a grunt. When he passed Ignis by to rejoin their father he brushed the small of Ignis’ back. “He was awake this morning for just a little bit. Iris got to see him.”

Ignis nodded along, deep in thought. It would not be easy from this moment on. But it would be a little less fraught now he had woken. “I’m glad.”

They had switched on the heating. Every window was closed as to not waste the warmth and the air tasted foul. But his companions all smelt far better, like cheap soap and homemade shaving cream, and no one dared to give comment on Ignis’ hoodie. But he felt all eyes on him.

Cor broke the brief silence. “Are you hungry?”

Ignis had forgotten entirely about food. He hadn’t realised how hollow his belly had become while he slept. “Yes.”

There was the rustling of plastic. “Got a breakfast bar, but Amais said there was leftovers in the fridge if you want them. Fish and pasta, apparently.”

Ignis didn’t think he was strong enough to enter their apartment yet. A proper apology first – then they could eat together. “Can I have the bar?”

It sailed through the air. Ignis managed to catch it with both hands and a little spark of pride filled him up. With eagerness he was barely embarrassed to feel he tore the packet open with his teeth.

Across the room the door to the hallway squeaked open. Distracted, Ignis glanced over.

“Oh, good morning,” Nico said with her signature smile. “It’s good to see you again, Ignis.”

A little bashful Ignis hung his head. _It’s good to see you_ , they all said, and Ignis had felt the fool nursing all his anger and dread. Out of all these people not one had chastised him. The phantom touch of kindly hands upon his hair made him feel all the worse.

“Thank you,” he responded, muffled through a bite of the bar. He swallowed a little too soon and it scratched his throat on the way down. “How is your patient?”

“He’s doing just fine,” she said and Ignis had long loved her bedside manner and admired her eternal patience. “I’m swapping over with Ivy now, and I’m on call in case she needs me – but he’s currently our only patient so he’s getting lots of fuss.”

It was enough to bring a smile to his face. All these years later and Gladio still loved a little attention from nurses. “Thank you,” he said again. “Off to get some sleep?”

“You know it,” she said dryly, unclipping the watch from her lapel and tugging off her ID. “Nazim – you call me if you need anything, alright?”

“Get some sleep, Nico,” he responded, firm as a father, and when she was gone, he sighed. “Girl works too hard.”

“Too many people pulling double duty,” Cor agreed. He rubbed at his cheek and Ignis could hear only the faint scratch of his nails. At some point he had trimmed his beard back down. Ignis imagined he almost looked human again. “More people injured than there are to treat the wounds.”

“And let’s not even talk about the psychological help,” Nazim said darkly, and took a long drink of his water. “I’ll have to find a physiotherapist for the Amicitia boy. Gonna be a hell of a task. Send them my way if you come across the gold dust.”

A morose quiet settled between them all. Ignis demolished the rest of his bar and crunched the package in his hand. Soon he began peeling at the tearable edges, peeling tiny little lines of plastic down and along. If Nazim didn’t like it, he said nothing.

Having nowhere to rush to next was strange. Ignis had spent too long on the road, fretting and fighting. To have his family almost complete had felt like a far-off dream, the years stretching agonizingly long and appearing endless. Hours wasted tearing down the roads, stifled in stale air, always vulnerable. Here Ignis was safe at last. For the time being none of his family would leave their haven, and no one would dare question his capability.

Ignis was no longer tired. But he settled back and enjoyed the quiet, letting his eyes drift closed, and smiled when Prompto reached over and took his hand without a word.

Days passed just this way - slowly, dully, and Ignis found he didn’t mind at all.

-X-

Family descended upon him slowly, one or two at a time, and Ignis coped by offering a disarming smile and a sincere – though brief – apology for what he had put them through.

They performed each of their awkward social niceties first, bowing their heads in hello, speaking softly – _you look well, is Gladio up? Are there blankets in your room?_ – and Ignis tested the waters before he submerged himself. Better to scald a toe than fill his lungs painfully slow, and Ignis had the uncanny feeling that the water might get him in the end anyway.

Everyone was different and each unbearable. Monica shook his hand but clasped it firmly before he could pull away, voice neutral as she welcomed him home. Talcott was a gust of wild wind, throwing himself up against Ignis’ chest and crying endlessly, the one who likely had Ignis feeling the worst. Amais was a close second – quiet and thoughtful and remaining always close by his eldest’s side, unable to be apart from him for long no matter how Cor tried to silently remind him to give Ignis his space. Like he dreaded the thought of losing him again, and Ignis’ apology was in how he remained patient and clasped his father’s hand for hours.

Dinner was pressed upon him the very moment Dustin came home. It was humble and quiet, rice and potatoes and what little meat they could spare. Somehow someone had gotten hold of wine and Prompto insisted, giving Talcott his first tiny glass, and making sure everyone was offered. It was foul but Ignis drank it anyway, wearing his first true smile in weeks, and it must have been gone midnight when they finally slunk off to bed, Talcott hoovering and pressing his luck before Cor turned stern.

Breakfast hadn’t been a family affair in quite some time. With differing responsibilities and routines, it was rare that everyone slept and ate at the same hour. Eventually everyone stopped making the effort to be together. But Amais was determined and woke when the dawn should have been by his side. _I have lessons,_ he said to Ignis apologetically, _so I have to be outside at eight, but until then – that is, if you want to –_

 _I’d love to,_ Ignis said, earnestly, and wished he could see Amais smile again.

Even Cor lingered. Every chair around their cramped dining room table was taken and creaking and Ignis had no clue what to say. He had made bitterness his home for so long he had forgotten how to speak. But ever eager Prompto guided him, asking about today’s lesson plan, the schedule of the market, and Ignis hummed and even laughed with the rest of them. He ate well, happier at last, and as Amais prepared to leave, knowing the children would be arriving soon, he squeezed Ignis’ shoulder.

 _Thank you,_ he said, fond and proud, and Ignis couldn’t simply linger.

At first some of Lestallum’s children had been frightened of him. They cowered when he looked their way and even wept if he came too close. But time had settled their anxieties, and the smiles that Ignis forced had helped in some small way when Amais explained that Ignis was kind and brave, and his scars were nothing to fear. It had taken a long while and a lot of hurt feelings, but none feared the mess of his scars and Ignis had become an uncommon face during Amais’ lessons, more often ghosting across the balconies than assisting his father in story time.

There wasn’t much Ignis could do. Toys were trip hazards and children unthinkingly barged past in their eagerness to play. But he knew his presence would make Amais happy beyond words. Ignis returned to his apartment and dressed practically, though he couldn’t bear part from Gladio’s hoodie, and thumped all the way down to the open courtyard.

Time passed in a whirlwind. Children he knew clambered up towards him while strangers remained shy, new to the class and reluctant. Soni gave him a wide hug, thrilled to see him again, and Alec insisted on gifting Ignis a fistful of flowers. They were weeds, Ignis was sure, plucked from the city pavements, but he thanked him for them all the same.

When lunch came around, they had swapped classes. They served five throughout the day, all for an hour each to encourage community and socialisation. Some children such as Alec remained for most of the day, having been orphaned years past and taken care of his aunt who worked all day in the powerplant. Ignis issued himself the task of keeping the children fed and watered, protected from a spot of rain that fell shortly after noon.

There was little time to speak to Amais. But Ignis didn’t mind when Prompto came down for a short while, wildly popular with more of the class, and Ignis had kept himself so busy that he didn’t think of Gladio so often.

Their final class departed at six pm. Ignis gave Alec a fond goodbye and another thank you, and his aunt was certainly surprised to see him again – and in such a bright mood. Ignis himself could share such surprise. Many of the children called out their goodbyes, long taught that they couldn’t wave to Ignis, and Ignis was exhausted, but content once the courtyard was finally quiet, and ready to do it all again tomorrow.

“Alec will be with us all weekend, as well as Kolya and Dihn,” Prompto told him as they shovelled all of the toys back into their boxes, pushing it back into the supply closest just outside of Dustin’s door. Ignis had walked through a spiderweb and Prompto thoughtfully picked it out of his hair. “Their families are pulling weekend shifts, and we’re a bit low on food for the kids – looks like we’ll have to make a run to the community headquarters to pick up whatever they’ve scraped together for us.”

“I’ll come with you,” Ignis said immediately and Prompto squeezed his hand in thanks.

Each day was much the same. A tidal wave of fussy but sweet children and regular meals at the dinner table. And Ignis felt better with each day, bold and growing more confident even as Nazim watched over a Gladio that shifted in and out of sleep. He hoisted bags of rice and pasta and powdered milk, Cor leading the charge through the city streets in front and Prompto chattering endlessly at his side.

It wasn’t like Ignis had never left. It was better, like Ignis had never been dismissed. Nagging thoughts were still cloying and bitter – _the honeymoon phase,_ they told him _, they’ll trap you again soon_ – but Ignis shook them free. The future was something they could not ignore. It was a dark cloud coming on the horizon, he was sure. But if his family were trying their best, Ignis could not find fault, and he could not do any less.

All the while, Ignis refused to go outside without Gladio’s hoodie.

There were several hanging up in their shared closet. Ignis basked in each of them, equally warm and soft. On the occasion he was permitted to sit by Gladio’s side as he slumbered he breathed it in deeply, clutching his hand, content with the lingering warmth of his skin. Cor often sat by his, ever patient and attentive, and remaining in Lestallum for the longest time Ignis could remember. While he hadn’t meant to, Cor had become unmissably absent, and Ignis had missed him sorely. It was reassuring beyond words to have everyone by his side, all speaking, none of them hurting – and Ignis wished only that he could be by Gladio’s side as he woke one day soon.

Gladio came home on the fourth day.

-X-

A cup of coffee a square of cheap chocolate was heaven incarnate and it soothed Ignis’ fickle nerves.

It was entirely possible that he had driven a groove through their carpet with all his pacing. Ignis walked to and fro with the lamplight streaming through the window, sapping the assuring warmth of the cup for something to rely on. His dressing gown was recently washed, smelling faintly of the laundry detergent they rationed out. They had cleaned Gladio’s sheets with it and made the bed, eager for him to feel settled and safe, and Ignis couldn’t bear to leave his side – and he couldn’t bear to be with him.

Amais had left only recently. He had eaten some of their biscuits and folded up their laundry, seeking for a cure to his anxious hands. The hour was late, and the apartments were still and quiet. It was insufferable. An itch agitated Ignis’ skin, and he needed the reassurance of good company. He was sure everyone would be long abed.

Along in their bedroom Gladio still slumbered quietly. Most of the past few days he had spent sleeping, recuperating. While his throat was terribly dry, he had spoken often to Iris and Cor, unable to move his injured arm and blinking against the harsh light. Ignis was eager to offer anything he could – blood, water, anything at all, but to be by his side was an uncertainty that Ignis could not afford.

Ignis was just about used to his apartment now. None of the furniture had moved. Gladio had been very cautious about that, and he had spent time installing a banister into the stairs – just in case, he had insisted, when Ignis’ temper had shamefully flared – and organising the drawers in the kitchen. Nothing of Ignis’ was out of place and even Gladio’s books had scarcely moved. Someone had left a book and an old mug on the coffee table. Ignis didn’t dare investigate.

As always, their sofa was delightful. They had to spend a long while scrubbing out stains to make it bearable, but age had made it sag, wonderfully soft and relaxing. Ignis had slept here dozens of times, their throw blanket pleasantly warm. Sometimes it was more of a comfort than the endless stretch of their cold bed as they lie back-to-back, unable to sleep.

Try as he might, Ignis always came back to those sour memories. The apartment had been filled with distaste – with rage, at times, and Ignis couldn’t shake the dread of Gladio waking to find Ignis alone.

 _I’m sorry,_ he had said, voice rebounding within the cave. Such vows had been made so many times before, and Ignis could only hope he had meant it.

With time his coffee grew cold. Footsteps creaked in the apartment overhead. The last ‘glaive to call it home had been horrifically loud, blasting music and frequently bringing strangers into their little safe nest. Her replacement was far milder mannered, a woman who was rarely home, and Ignis wondered if she was tiptoeing to avoid their attentions.

Sighing Ignis put his cup to one side. The hour was late. There was nothing for him to do, and no more putting off something so vital. He could not avoid Gladio’s eyes forever and so he reluctantly swept up his things, fetching a glass of water and the blanket from the sofa, and trundled over to their bedroom.

It was dark and still. A small lamp with a torn cover sat turned off in the furthest reaches and Ignis crept over to it. There was a plush armchair beside it and Ignis kicked his old slippers out of the way. Switching it on, a shimmer of light crossing his eyelids, he settled down and bundled himself up warmly.

Over in the bed Gladio remained still. Slow and steady breaths filled the room. He had been piled up with many different blankets, given all sorts of pillows, and Iris had been the one to settle the duvet over his chest. Everyone had fret over him, wanting only what was best – Ignis could only wish he had been there to see his smile.

Ignis wasn’t confident that he was going to get much sleep. It was an earlier start tomorrow, with several children’s parents pulling the final shift of the night and bleeding into the morning. Perhaps that would been yet another coffee in the morning to keep his eyes open. Amais would never be disappointed with him if he took an extra hour or two to sleep, but Ignis would be disappointed in himself.

Leaning his head against the back of the seat, a limp pillow doing its best to support him, he pulled the blanket further across his shoulders. A coffee so late had been a terrible idea but there was no tea left and Ignis was desperate for something familiar and warm.

Lying back, eyes closed and never heavy, Ignis sat consumed by his own circling thoughts until he jerked awake with a start.

For a moment he thought noise had woken him. He had overslept, he panicked, and the children had come. But there wasn’t a single sound from beyond the windows. Gladio still breathed faithfully, deeply, and Ignis fought to calm the pounding of his heart. Eyes like amethysts faded from the void of his mind, warmth dripping from his hands, and the wind screamed.

He didn’t realise he was shaking until he smoothed a hand over his mouth. Ignis sighed a little, still tired beyond words. It must have been minutes since he slipped into sleep. The lamp by his side was still on and but now hot to the touch. _An hour, then,_ he thought. He shook his head and sought his phone, tucked within his robes.

“Kweh,” Ignis asked, rubbing his eyes. “What time is it?”

“Probably about six, I guess,” Gladio’s gruff voice said before she could respond, and when Ignis jerked his phone slipped free of his lap and clattered to the floor, Kweh’s voice lost to him entirely.

Scrambling for it, he swept it up and swore. He was wide awake within an instant, stumbling through his new world. “I… I’m sorry. I didn’t meant to wake you.”

Bedsheets rustled too loudly in the quiet as Gladio sat up. He grunted dismissively. “Nah, you didn’t. Just got sick of sleeping, I guess.”

Kweh was listening still. Ignis shoved his phone away and tried to ignore the offbeat nature of his heart. “I understand,” he said helplessly, unsure of what else to say. An advisor always had a good plan, and he had failed himself completely. “Well. How are you feeling?”

A long pause stretched between them both. The silence of both the room and outdoors was a sound that Ignis had grown used to in Caem. Here it felt wrong. “Kinda like garbage,” Gladio said slowly. There wasn’t any lick of humour. “Not exactly how I thought a winner would feel.”

Ignis bowed his head and smoothed the blanket over his legs. The room was warm. At six the heating had been set to kick in, but only for ten minutes to prevent waste. “I see,” he said, and all his courage and wit over the past few days had fled.

There was no sense in running away. Still, Ignis shuffled and considered the door. “Would you like something to eat?”

“I’m good,” Gladio said and all the blankets were pushed aside. One flumped onto the floor. “Thanks, though. Your dad made me eat a lot of soup when I first came out of the doctor’s.”

The thought made him laugh. Soup had long been Amais’ cure all. Ignis remembered a childhood full of hundreds of kinds of soups when he was feeling poorly or during a long Insomnian winter. _Those hit harder than any he had known before,_ Amais always insisted, though his son could barely remember the winters that came before Insomnia, and Cor had promised to take them to Tenebrae to experience real winter.

They never had. Shortly after the Queen was gone, and Cor refused to let them leave the safety of the Wall without guard.

No more. Ignis had long had enough of such dire thoughts.

Unfortunately, it left him only with a thousand unanswered questions. There had so been so much to lose and little to gain. And Gladio had lost beyond the worst of Ignis’ expectations – his arm was thickly bandaged, Iris had told him, needing to be changed every few hours to prevent infection. It would be a year of readjustment, Ignis knew, if not more, and Ignis couldn’t understand why Gladio would push so hard to lose what little remained to them.

It was difficult to stamp down on the frustration that still sat within him. Starving it was the only way that it would die. But something like that was easier said than done.

Still Gladio shifted in his seat. “Come sit with me,” he asked softly and Ignis looked uncertainly towards him.

There was no resisting his voice when it dropped so low. “Come on,” Gladio called, patting against his thigh, and Ignis found himself at his bedside before he could come to his own senses.

Their mattress was ancient. Ignis didn’t dare think about how long it had been used before they came along. It was sunken in and Ignis may as well have sat on the floor when they sank so low. He left his blanket behind and instead bunched his hands in Gladio’s, thoughtful.

Rough fingers crept closer to his. They toyed with him, daring to stroke along his index finger. “You remember what I asked you?”

Ignis looked his way curiously. The touch of his hands created an electric spark that was impossible to ignore, and Gladio hummed gratefully when Ignis curled his hands to fit his just so. “You had that talk with your family? I know I’ve been in and out of consciousness a few days now.”

Letting out a low, long breath, Ignis shrugged. It was all he could say but Gladio sought more, making an expectant noise low in his throat. “Of a sort. It’s not been a complete discussion, though I’m sure that will come with time. I’ve… apologised to them all, at least. And they don’t seem… angry.”

“That’s good,” Gladio rumbled. That voice had murmured to him countless times, had kissed the shell of his ear in the dead of night. Ignis missed it sorely. “Real good.”

Reaching over Ignis drifted his fingers across Gladio’s pulse. The slow and steady pace brought him endless comfort. His wrists were strong and his skin soft, even where stained by ink. Ignis traced the feathers that he wished he could see one more time. A wound that left a scar had cut across his bicep a year ago and Gladio had been furious. But it hadn’t seemed so bad when it had become another mark for Ignis to kiss when they were at peace with one another.

Gladio was watching him. Ignis could feel his gaze prickling and he sat uneasily – but it wasn’t as nerve wracking as Ignis anticipated it would be. Some form of peace still settled like a blanket across his shoulders. Ignis could only hope that the sour taste of resentment would not come and tear it all apart again.

Eventually Gladio softly cleared his throat. Ignis hoped his wary wince wasn’t obvious. “Sorry I left without saying anything,” he said, as shamed as a child caught hiding evidence of their misbehaviour.

His tone was enough to make Ignis smile and even laugh a little, soft in the quiet. Such moments of intimacy and privacy were ill afforded to them here. People came and went at all house in these apartments, walls paper thin, and Gladio had always been on the move himself. Ignis had found it so aggravating in every way and was no longer entirely sure why. Of course, he would have preferred to be by Gladio’s side, but such a busy and relentless man had been the one he fell in love with all those years ago.

Ignis remembered the moment well. There had been an inkling of feelings throughout the years – yawning aches when Gladio began to tease and flirt with strangers, satisfaction when Gladio would stay the night at his place rather than take the long drive home, and the longing to be desired by a man who had simply been his best friend. And Ignis thought Noctis’ sixteenth birthday would be change at all, thinking only of duty and pizza ordered in, but they drank and they drank and they drank, until Prompto was out cold upon the sofa and Noctis was dozing against his chest, and Gladio kissed him in the doorway to the kitchen.

Everything had abruptly made sense, and Ignis’ heart knew sweet torment.

Forgiveness no longer seemed an impossibility. With Gladio’s hands in his, anything seemed possible. “If anyone should be sorry about that, surely it should be myself. Though, that being said… I hadn’t ventured off into an ancient cave to do battle with the spirit of a long-deceased spirit, obsessed with honour.”

Jokes were a risky move. It was entirely possible that Gladio would become defensive or take offence. But Gladio barked out a laugh and immediately grunted afterwards, throat no doubt sore from disuse. “Guess you’re right,” he said, far easier going than Ignis expected.

There was space for Ignis to fit. A chance for all his aching questions to go answered. Even while his heart began to beat louder in his ears Ignis remained perfectly casual, tracing a long pattern up and down Gladio’s forearm. He never dared to go higher, as much as he wished to. He had traced that pattern all up and along his shoulders while Gladio had slept in the doctor’s office, waiting impatiently for his chance.

It had been all he could manage to not smooth back his hair and go digging for his toiletries. Ignis missed the warming scent of his hair oil more than anything. When they shared an apartment in Insomnia it had been the scent of home, the presence of the man he loved.

He waited a while, biding his time, waiting for Gladio to continue. He never did, seemingly content to bask in Ignis’ steady touch.

Eventually Ignis could not bear the silence and spoke, unable to reach faux casual. “Gladio,” he began, speaking through the lump in his throat. “Why did you go there? Where were you before you journeyed to Hammerhead?”

A great sigh made Gladio’s heavy shoulders slump. He sounded shattered, weary beyond words. But his hand never pulled away and Ignis counted his blessings. “It seemed like a real good idea at the time,” he admitted, half humorous. “Those first few days I was out hunting, trying to look for you. But then I started spiralling. Got so damn angry. Got so fucked up in my own head that I couldn’t stand it, and I was desperate to prove myself any way I could. I didn’t know what to do for a few days, so I just wandered – and then when I remembered Gilgamesh, I was tracking Cor.”

It was intimately familiar depiction of Gladio’s teeming emotions. Swallowing around the ever-growing lump grew more and more difficult. Suddenly the apartment didn’t seem so warm. Ignis could kid himself he was back at that lonely dinner table, relying on a woman he barely knew the name of who took pity, and simmering within his own resentment.

There had been so much anger. Born from pain, and he and Gladio were more alike than he ever knew.

“Gods,” Ignis said and pushed his too long hair out of his weary, sore eyes. “You must have been. To be gone so long, and then to bypass us entirely at Keycatrich.”

A pained noise left Gladio’s throat. It tore its way free. “Wasn’t thinking straight. I panicked that I didn’t know enough of the stories to get in – I wasn’t even sure where Taelpar Crag was – I backtracked a few times, which is how you were so close behind. I stole the weapon to be sure. I… I have to make it up to him somehow.”

With the softest of tuts Ignis dared to brush his hand along his bicep. His other hand reached to rest upon his shoulder, hoping that Gladio would look up at him. “He was so worried about you when he realised,” Ignis told him firmly. “And he was determined to find you right away. I’m positive everything is forgiven.”

Gladio’s shoulders were drawn terribly tight. It must have hurt his wrapped up beyond words. There would be that terrible strained expression upon his young face, scars drawing tight. Ignis always loathed that look. Gladio was too young to drown, too carefree to suffer. “Hope so,” he said noncommittally, lost in the doubt that Ignis shared.

Curious, Ignis let his hand fall to Gladio’s wounded arm. The wrapping was tight, solid. Good work. It had been changed just before Gladio had left the doctor’s office and he had strict orders to return each day for a check-up and bandage change. Antibiotics and pain relief had been pressed firmly in Prompto’s hands with stern instructions, and Gladio would soon be due another handful of tablets.

Ignis hated feeling the rough texture against the faintest warmth of Gladio’s skin. It gave him a terrible reminder of the bandages around his head, wrapped so tightly it strained his eyes and agitated his sensitive flesh. They had given him only basic pain relief; all they could spare in the immediate destruction. It had been impossible to breathe – and yet Ignis endured. He would always endure.

There was no way Ignis would ever let Gladio suffer the same.

Tilting his head, Ignis sighed very softly. “Despite it all, did you find what you needed?”

A hot hand settled over Ignis’. His breath caught as if Gladio had seized him by his shoulders or pulled him in for a kiss. Ignis had been so starved of touch even this was overwhelming. “Yeah, and no. Some things. Power, and assurance, but…” Gladio stroked a thumb over Ignis’ scarred knuckles. “I’m missing some things I need still.”

Alarm set off in Ignis’ chest. Recoiling, he asked, “Are you going to leave again?”

“No,” Gladio hurriedly said, the same panic evident in his tone. Ignis wished that both hands could seal around his, beautifully fond. “No – not at all. I swear.”

Long absent relief was immediate and sweet. Ignis nodded faintly, soothed. “Good,” he said and let himself delight in the touch of Gladio’s dedicated hand.

The palm of Ignis’ hands were sweetly sensitive when it came to such gentle touch. Gladio’s thumb traced the lines across as if seeking his fortune. Ignis did not realise he had shuffled closer until he could feel Gladio’s breath against his exposed collarbones.

When Gladio gave a long sigh Ignis was pulled protesting from the peaceful, assuring moment. “Feeling like a dumb asshole,” he said, and determined to remain lost in the longing Ignis could not understand.

“Mm?”

Gladio entertained himself with sweeping back and forth, back, and forth against his knuckles. Ignis longed to fully lose himself in the residual pleasure. Gladio spoke slowly, voice low and enthralling. “Went to regain my confidence – or die trying,” he said, turning sour. “Ended up feeling like I was on top of the world for ten seconds before he fucked up my arm completely. Guess I didn’t listen to Cor’s advice the way I thought I had. Ended up in the exact same boat – but I’m not a teenager. I don’t have time to relearn the art.”

Leaving for the sake of renewed confidence was stupid. It was the stupidest thing Ignis had heard in quite some time. But that wasn’t helpful, and invited judgement on Ignis’ own behaviour these past few weeks. Ignis sidestepped it entirely, unwilling to haul them both underneath the waves of doubt, chains around their ankles. “You did well enough to win. And such skill can be retaught – until Noctis returns you have enough time to practise your craft. There are dozens of suitable warriors capable of training you.”

It wasn’t comforting the way Ignis intended for it to be. Gladio grunted dismissively. “Was kinda hoping that Noctis would be back before that kind of time passed.”

So had they both. Ignis had dozens of plans, all immaculately made and all truly laid to waste. The Astrals were cruel. Most plans felt like an impossibility in this darkness, and some had been destroyed outright, left in the crumbling wastes of Insomnia. There would be no happy marriage between Noctis and Lunafreya. No sweet and soft heirs cheering up the serious halls of the Citadel, and no late-night discussions and laughter in Noctis’ quarters over whisky and wine.

Through it all, Ignis was still not sure if it would have been kinder for the Kings to let him cling to hope. With their ‘gift’ of their visions he had seen their truth. Perhaps Ignis could forge another truth with hard work and perseverance, but Ignis no longer carried the hope of a throne reclaimed. But with each day an empty throne felt so very final, and no one was happy to let him have the final word. Ignis had never been very good at not having the final word.

Kindness was a funny thing. For some an act of kindness may have been cruel, and cruelty a misshapen act of kindness. So, he said nothing, and focused on swallowing back the guilt while Gladio pet his hands. The knowledge that Gladio might be furious with him as Ignis withheld the truth of their future, the future that they were endlessly fighting for only to end with death, was a bitter poison spreading across his tongue.

It didn’t bear thinking about. Ignis pushed through the pain he would never speak, but one day share. “Gladiolus,” he said, and his tone had changed enough that Gladio sharply looked his way. “There’s no sense in saying this now, but I must – there isn’t a soul among us that believed that you could not guide or protect us. Your fears are unfounded. Noctis’s departure was… Noctis was an unfortunate event, and it did not make us respect you less. Each of us love and appreciate the job you do. Even if your advice might be harsh, or we don’t want to hear such truths… it is solid and comes from your heart.”

Gladio said nothing but his assuring stroke remained. Despite the anxiety that sat like a stone within his chest, Ignis continued. “I have always appreciated that you speak your mind. Sometimes I wish you might soften your tone or speak it privately. But it is the advice spoken roughly that stays with you longest. Perhaps I could take a leaf from your book.”

Gladio’s laughter was dry as sand. It was a terrible as the sandstorms that whipped around Leide. “Never thought I’d hear that from you.”

“I never thought we would be in such a position that I might share it,” Ignis shrugged, and twisted his mouth humourlessly. “I suppose had I been a bit less soft with Noctis, we might not have become so divided.”

“I think he needed it,” Gladio said with a billowing sigh and Ignis looked towards him, a touch surprised. Maybe it was unfair – Gladio could certainly be lenient, but it was rare. Most at the Citadel assumed that Ignis was the hard ass, taught well by his Marshal father to play by the rules while Gladio simply tailed his king and left the thinking to Ignis, but Ignis only saw consequence and outcomes. Ignis thought little of expectations and the rules. To Gladio, they were everything. “Otherwise, he would be even more miserable than he was at… at the end. And I guess there’s no sense in second guessing the past.”

“I agree,” Ignis said thoughtfully, mind obscured with the shifting glow of the Crystal and the echo of Noctis’ cries and they didn’t speak again for a long while.

All the while Gladio never released his hand. Thumbs pressed gently into the tired skin, rubbing firmly, squeezing the shape of his hand. Ignis’ slim wrists were given the same affection and he closed his eyes against the gentle pleasure. It was reassurance, and love, and Ignis had missed it sorely.

Such touch brought back memories that Ignis, in his wrath, had forgotten entirely. Younger days where their bond was still fledgling, and Ignis had cut his hand in training. The wound was not serious and Ignis told him so, protesting when Gladio fetched the first aid kit mounted upon the wall. But Gladio had been determined, and ever stubborn, and treated the wound himself with hands that were surprisingly gentle. When Ignis hissed from the sting of antiseptic Gladio apologised, and tenderly wrapped his hand.

All throughout their lives together Gladio had told him again and again that he loved Ignis’ steady hands. When they danced together at formal functions that seemed a million years ago Gladio would kiss his knuckles in greeting, thanks, and farewell. When Gladio was anxious, teeming with nerves he would kiss against Ignis’ wrist, seeking his reliable pulse. As they both put themselves abed and were dozing off by each other’s side Gladio would kiss his palm, whisper a good night against his skin, and they would do it all over again tomorrow.

Ignis loved Gladio’s mouth just as well. Plush and warm, firm and faithful, and Ignis wished he could kiss him and enjoy the pleasure of his hands without guilt.

While he thought of the past Gladio had upturned Ignis’ hand, curling around it. Their hands were almost equal size but Gladio’s were rougher, abused with callouses. Ignis carried his own share but Gladio had hauled around his greatsword each day of his life. His skin was darker, deeper, and his nails were always in a poor state. Ignis wished more than anything he could see them again.

“I’m sorry,” Gladio breathed.

Though his smile wobbled Ignis persevered. “I know.” _I am, too._

But Gladio sat up straighter. “No,” he said firmly and squeezed his hand for attention. “I’m sorry, Ignis. I know it might not seem that the Trial was a good idea, and maybe it wasn’t after everything – but Gilgamesh helped give my confidence back. With each of his tests, each beast slain I gained power, and the knowledge that maybe I really can stay Shield after losing Noctis. But all that confidence is only for the sake of being Shield, and guiding Noct through the dark when he comes back. The rest of it… being away from you for so long, I…” he swallowed hard and waited for a moment, as if expecting Ignis to interrupt. Ignis never did, waiting for more, and so he continued uncertainly. “Being away, I realised that we had fucked it all up. Gone wrong so many places. And I needed to meet you halfway and make it right. But I didn’t realise that until I saw your face and didn’t realise how desperate I was for it until I thought I was bleeding out, and then…” Gladio rumbled, pitched low inside his warm chest. “The answers I found there didn’t complete me the way I thought they world. The rest, I… I need to do for myself. I need – and want – to make it up to you.”

Only when Gladio swore under his breath and reached for his chin, guiding his face ever so gently forward and wiping at his cheeks did Ignis realise he was crying. “Ah,” he said, surprised and embarrassed, and scrubbed at his own cheeks. There was an awful feeling of unshakeable weight within his skull, pulling him down and stifling him.

For some tears were a relief. _They always make me feel better,_ Prompto said awkwardly, perched by his side as Ignis sniffled. They had only been children. Ignis had long forgotten the tragedy, but he recalled how crying had not made him feel better at all. “Ah – I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise,” Gladio told him and Ignis wished sorely that both hands could cup his cheeks, cradle him sweetly. They always were a comfort, far greater than any shared tears. “Listen, I know that… this might be dumb, or inappropriate, but…”

Tilting his head, Ignis brushed his fingers across the hand that cupped his cheek. They were blissfully warm but soon edged towards scalding. Ignis never tugged them away. “What is it?”

A long breath billowed over Ignis’ chest. His cheeks were pink, Ignis was sure, flushed with nerves and an awkward buzz of anticipation. Gladio would surely be avoiding his eyes. “I love you,” he blurted, and it had not at all been what Ignis was expecting.

Surprised, Ignis’ mouth fell open, and Gladio darted on as if worried Ignis would interrupt or cast his aside. “I always have, Iggy. I know I’ve been fucking up in showing it and I don’t expect you to feel the same. What happened was too much, I know, and I’m probably just a stupid asshole feeling sorry for himself now, but… maybe…”

As soon as his newfound energy had come, it was over in moments. As if the strings carrying his shoulders were snipped Gladio slumped with defeat, anticipating an answer that had not yet come. “I’m sorry,” he said, newly fatigued, and Ignis wished he could see his earnestness.

Still, it was written all throughout his voice. Everything came in a grand rush, the sense that if Gladio didn’t get it all out of his system he might explode. There was doubt, and pain, but clear-cut affection in the warmth of his voice and the caress of his thumbs. Ignis’ tears were slow and hesitant, his tear ducts barely capable after their scarring, and they soaked Gladio’s dedicated hands.

For a while Ignis didn’t know what to say. But he knew his truth and was desperate to put it into words before it became too late. Before Gladio slipped away again, lost, thinking he was unwanted, and before the cracks in their relationship became too deep to heal.

A laugh burst free from him. Ignis hadn’t expected that, and he leapt to clarify his feelings before the hurt could sting Gladio’s heart. “Gladiolus,” he said, taking his hand and guiding it down towards his heart. “I love you. We are a right pair of idiots, and I love you. I came after you before I was afraid for your safety, and…” His feelings might have been complicated then, and remained so. But Ignis looked past the unhappiness of his past, ready to move on. “You mean far more to me than you can ever know.”

A long, shuddering breath left Gladio’s toiling chest. Once steady hands trembled against Ignis’ chest. “That means so much to me,” he admitted. “These aren’t just empty words, I swear – I’m going to prove it to you again and again that I’m changing. But I’m still yours, if you want me.”

Ignis wondered faintly if Gladio’s heart was as thunderous as his. Ignis reached out to sate his curiosity, palm settling against his warm muscle, seeking his heartbeat. “I want to stay,” Gladio said gently, as his heart pounded hard against the cage of his ribs. “I want to hold the line and keep everyone safe, look after my family, and greet Noctis when he comes back for good. Greet him together and put him back on that throne.”

It was hard to think straight with Gladio so close. So starved of warmth, of contact, Ignis wanted to fall into him and lie there forever. Ignis wanted to sleep in comfort and safety. “I agree,” he forced himself to say, even knowing that Gladio would not achieve his wish – pushing through, sorry and sad. “To be honest, I had wanted to meet Noctis at Caem. I thought he would have returned to somewhere he knew, somewhere familiar, but… I wasn’t better off alone like I thought.”

The hand upon his chest faltered. It slipped a few inches until it rest over his belly. “That’s why you left?”

Ignis swore Gladio’s heart missed a beat. “Yes,” he said, already chagrined. But I won’t leave again. That was a mistake.”

With the faintest grumble of discontent Gladio shook his head. “Understandable. If I were smarter, I wouldn’t have chased you off in the first place. But I should have come to you first before undertaking the Trial, at least. And earning myself…” his wounded arm thumped heavily against the bed. “This stupid fucking thing.”

Each of them had paid an untenable price. Each was bloody, violent – perhaps this was the sacrifice that the Astrals demanded from Gladiolus, the last pound of flesh. The Kings had only seen fit to show him Noctis’ fate, not the end of their brothers, and as cruel as it was the reminder that Gladio was flesh and blood was an uncomfortable one.

Something precious had been taken from him. Perhaps now Gladio would calm, cowed, and look before he leapt.

Ignis didn’t think so. His Gladiolus was a fool beyond words, but he loved him still.

“You’ll learn again,” Ignis comfortably, safe in his knowledge of Gladio’s prowess. “It will take time, but you are a man of dedication, and with the lessons you have learned you’ll be stronger. Smarter. And when the time comes, Noctis will be so proud of you.”

His hand strayed to stroke over Gladio’s mane of hair. It was rough and wild, unable to be tamed, but Gladio purred beneath his touch. “I wish,” he murmured, faintly distracted by Ignis’ carress.

Stroking through Gladio’s hair was his greatest comfort. Ignis missed the scent of his oil and the early mornings where they could share such an intimate process together. Knowing Gladio loved him still made the moment all the sweeter, and knew he risked it all when he murmured, “And he’ll be proud of me, too. I’m going to learn to fight well again, with you.”

Automatically Gladio tensed, his hands knotting in Ignis’ robes. “Ignis…”

Shaking his head hard, Ignis kept his hand solidly against Gladio’s fighting heart and bit down on the worst of his surging emotion. “Don’t. Don’t tell me you’re going to side-line me after all of this. I won’t allow it.”

An uncomfortable sound left Gladio’s chest. “I don’t want to push you away,” he said, and despite it all Ignis believed him. There was a vulnerability within his tone, an earnestness. “But it’ll be hard. Maybe impossible.”

“You said you saw me on the bridge,” Ignis interrupted, unwilling to hear any such nonsense. There was a confidence fuelling him that had been gone for too long. “It’s been hard, and will be harder yet, but I already can defend myself. I simply need to learn more.” Within a beat where Gladio didn’t speak, instead shuffling uncomfortably, Ignis sighed. “I won’t ask you to let me do this. I will do it, regardless of what you say.”

A mixture of sullenness and acceptance made Gladio’s body deflate. Still Ignis did not seek his happiness, nor his permission – merely the understanding that Gladio would stay out of his way. To be chained was not a price he was willing to pay for Gladio’s company. “I won’t tell you no,” he rumbled and then gave a soft sigh. “I’ll try to help you make Cor see it your way.”

That was more than he could have asked for, but he cast his mind back to all the fighting that Ignis had endured. “I think he might see it that way already.”

Gladio looked up, curious. “Yeah?”

Lost in his own thoughts Ignis nodded. His world had changed much. Thankfully, only for the best. There were still steps to be made, and steep hills to conquer. But with each of them together, it would be done.

“We share the same duty, you and I,” Ignis began, a little hesitant. “It differs in ways, and differing men will take differing paths. But I will see it through – the same way that you will, and Prompto and Noctis will be by our sides. I know that duty is complicated – and your father was stern when he taught you the duty and honour of the Amicitia line-” To say so was an understatement, and Ignis still carried a distaste for the man, “but you don’t have to follow in his footsteps. You made your own choice to take part in something he dismissed, and it makes you no better and no worse than him. Gladio, I refuse to tear you down. I will support you in any way.” The tears were dried against his cheeks. They were no weakness, Ignis decided. Not anymore. “I can only hope you will support me too.”

After everything, the support they gave each other was vital. It was easy to stomach the painful loss of home when Gladio cast his arms over their shoulders, and Noctis still nuzzled close. Together they were strong. Apart they were plagued with doubt, misery – and Ignis could not bear the thought of wasting more time in childish fits of anger. He prayed that Gladio understood it, and relief flooded him when Gladio nodded along. “I will,” he swore, and sounded just like his father. “Anything you need. Any way you need. As your friend, or…”

After everything, the support they gave each other was vital. It was easy to stomach the painful loss of home when Gladio cast his arms over their shoulders, and Noctis still nuzzled close. Together they were strong. Apart they were plagued with doubt, misery – and Ignis could not bear the thought of wasting more time in childish fits of anger. He prayed that Gladio understood it, and relief flooded him when Gladio nodded along. “I will,” he swore, and sounded just like his father. “Anything you need. Any way you need. As your friend, or…”

Hesitant, he trailed off. An uncertainty claimed him but Ignis interjected. “More,” he said firmly. “That’s what I want. To be the way we were, but stronger.”

In the quiet Ignis’ heart was whole. It gave him the bravery to reach again for Gladio, hand trailing up slowly. From his chest, across his collarbones, along the arch of his throat and against his chin. The beard he found was impressive, more unkempt that Ignis had ever seen from him, and he was half a mind to ask him to keep it.

But it was not what he searched for. Persevering he found the curve of Gladio’s beautiful smile. Ignis’ fingers traced the bow, plump and alluring, the solution to so many little problems that had created headaches and sighs in Ignis. Just a suggestion of a kiss, a brush of his lips against his temple, and Ignis was made anew.

Gladio had been by his side all his life. Ignis would not let that change now.

For a while he lost himself in tracing across what he had missed for so long. The world beyond meant nothing to him now, and his well-built routine was cast aside. Hours had slipped by, Ignis could have guessed, and with Gladio they were hours well spent. They had too much time to make up for and Ignis bowed his head, eyes slipped closed, content to lie entwined in Gladio’s arms for as long as the world allowed them, but too afraid to take the last step.

Eventually Gladio gave a low, pleased hum. The smile upon his lips had never faded. “Ignis,” he said, and the seriousness edge of his tone startled him a little.

Blinking back into his reality, pleasant thoughts of basking in Gladio’s natural warmth departing in the waters of realism, Ignis’ lips parted. “Yes?”

A hand knotted in his robe. The fabric tie had begun to slip loose and Gladio seemed momentarily disappointed to see his pyjamas underneath. “This is probably stupid. You’ll laugh at me or tell me off.”

At any other point that would have filled Ignis with a tired wariness. There were a million things to scold him for, Ignis knew, a thousand mischiefs that would have him roll his eyes. “What is it?”

“I want to swear an oath to you,” Gladio said plainly and Ignis started.

For a moment he thought he had misheard. “Pardon?”

Sure as anything Gladio repeated himself. “I want to swear an oath to you,” he said again and Ignis couldn’t help but wrinkle his nose and sink his brows. “I know it might sound foolish, but it’s what I want. Maybe the Oath of the Shield is inappropriate, but-”

The room felt all the warmer, encroaching on hot. Ignis knew he wore a blush well but the shock on his face must have been a less pretty picture. An oath from the Shield of the King was not something taken lightly. They had agreed long ago that Noctis came first, and they had each sworn their individual oaths when they came of age, officially sworn into their duties. They made no such oath to each other, as romantic as it might have been, and Ignis knew that Gladio lapped that kind of thing up in his dozens of stories. It would be inappropriate, a younger Ignis had decided, a frenzy if anyone should overhear them or find out, and he didn’t dare even think of it even as Gladio dreamt and teased.

“Gladiolus,” Ignis said, stunned beyond words, and Gladio no doubt wore the same flush enflamed with longing.

“It doesn’t have to be official,” Gladio said helplessly and his hands were hovering. “I just… I want you to know I’m serious. I can make it up on the spot.”

“Gladiolus,” Ignis said again, tone shifting into a touch of disappointment, and Gladio exhaled heavily, determined to argue. Ignis knew that sound almost as well and Gladio knew his sternness.

“I want to do this,” Gladio told him, that stubborn old edge slipping in, and Ignis could only laugh, breathless and winded.

He was dreaming. He had to be. There wasn’t a chance in all hells this was happening to him. “Alright,” he said weakly. “Alright, if that’s what you want. That romantic inside you won’t ever budge, will he?”

Perhaps this was simply to ease his guilty conscience. Or a comfort, something to renew their bond without something more serious, but Ignis could not be sure. Either way his scalding blush only deepened as Gladio shifted free of all the oppressive bedsheets, settling awkwardly onto his knees as if before Ignis, and cupped the slope between his shoulder and throat. His teasing went unrecognised.

It didn’t take long for Gladio to think on his feet. “Hear me,” he said in a low, purposeful rumble, and something in Ignis’ belly quaked at the sound. “All servants of fair fortune and turbulent fate, hear me as I commit myself to my lover, my heart.”

That was a stark change. Ignis knew the oath of the Crownsguard intimately. Pacing his bedroom, he had practised a thousand times, again and again to deliver it flawlessly. To hear it adapted for him was enough to set him aflame with embarrassment but still touched him deeply. There was no part of him that didn’t burn brighter than the sun.

Gladio took these oaths as seriously as the grave. Gladio did not take his vow to Ignis lightly.

“We strive to serve the people, to share in our successes, to lighten the burden we all carry. I, Gladiolus Amicitia, son of Clarus and Sorrel Amicitia, stand before each Astral to swear my oath, and take heed and to heart my destiny. I swear myself to your protection and to honour you always.” As he spoke his hand traced up and along Ignis’ throat, palm warm and rough, and Ignis could not help but tremble. It left a path of fire. “I swear upon the honour of my father and mother, the dignity of my king, and the grace of each Astral to always carry these sacred vows. I swear to remain fair and loyal, generous and true, and to follow the guidance and light of Ignis Scientia always.”

The room had fallen utterly into silence. It was as if the world itself had stopped to listen, and quaked when Gladio invoked Ignis’ name. “Hear me,” Gladio said, and Ignis could feel the warmth of his breath ghosting his cheek. On instinct his lips parted for him. “From this day forward, I swear myself to Ignis Scientia, and commit myself to him until the very last of my days.”

None of it was real if Ignis were being pedantic. But enough of it was taken from the true Crownsguard oath and shaped around Ignis to make him weak, hands shaking and mind hazy. And Gladio took the chance to kiss him, soft and careful, lips hesitant.

It was indescribable. Ignis’ brain had long fizzled out, distracted by the weight of Gladio’s declaration and the shape of his mouth, and Ignis was barely able to give back. Ignis leaned into him, overwhelmed by heat and affection, lost in the tempest.

Too soon Gladio pulled away. But his hand remained upon Ignis’ boiling cheek and Ignis lingered against his mouth, nose nuzzled against his. Human contact after so long was a delight, and Gladio was the greatest gift of all – soft, refusing to push his boundaries, and Ignis longed to kiss him again.

“Thank you,” Ignis breathed, reluctant to spoil such a beautiful moment, and Gladio took his cue and rewarded him with another kiss.

It was enough for tears to come to Ignis’ eyes. They refused to fall, gathering upon his eyelashes, and Gladio kissed him harder. Their lips moulded perfectly, just like Ignis remembered, and they broke away breathlessly only to re-join, frantic to connect again and again until they merged and became one.

“Thank you,” Gladio stressed, voice raw and dissonant, and joined with him when Ignis could only laugh weakly and hold him closer.

The quiet was no longer stressful. Their apartment was no longer filled with doubt. At it’s core the world had not changed – life was hard and perhaps everything would fall apart tomorrow. But Ignis would endure it know he was loved, cherished, and that Gladio would walk him through their future.

Finally, Ignis let himself bask. Shuffling far enough forward to be within Gladio’s spread legs he wrapped his arms firmly around Gladio, enjoying the bulk of his shoulders even if he could not enjoy the sweat. And Ignis felt complete again – not with Gladio’s other half completing his whole, nor with romantic contact, but knowing that he was wanted and forgiven.

It was a perfect moment. Gladio’s large hand slipped beneath his robes and against the small of his back, stroking so softly that Ignis could have wept. He nudged him closer yet, uncaring. “I know you’re probably real hungry, or were gonna go help your dad,” Gladio murmured, tucking his face into the groove of Ignis’ throat. “But stay with me a little while?”

Ignis didn’t want to be apart from him. “Of course,” Ignis said. “Perhaps…”

“Maybe I can find a book or something, the way we used to,” Gladio mused half to himself, as if he could read Ignis’ mind entirely – and Ignis laughed, and laughed, and laugh, until the tears of relief came unbidden.

“That sounds wonderful,” Ignis said, eyes soaked and happy at last, and Gladio kissed him until their lips were raw.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> art credit: thank you sanj (@kidgrayson on twitter, and kidgraysonx on tumblr)!


End file.
